A winter place

Bundled under my favorite sweater and my denim jacket, I left the classroom and headed toward the bitter December cold. There was snow on the ground—my professor asked if I had a car.

“I’m just down the block,” I said. He nodded his head and waved at me, wishing me one final goodbye.

It didn’t feel like anything had happened; I thought it would. I sighed, dug my hands deep into my coat pockets, and sniffled, the tip of my nose already frozen. Shuffling my way home, I wondered if I’d at least get some kind of cake to celebrate.

College demanded so much of me, and then, when it was over, it just sort of let me go. No fuss, no celebration: just goodbye, just “see you in May, maybe,” just…have fun. Before I’d even finished classes the alumni office was emailing me to ask for donations, as if I had anything left to give.

This, I suppose is the problem with graduating from a small university in December. There was a “reception” offered for December grads, but it lasted only an hour and took place during the final night of production for the newspaper—the thing that, undoubtedly, took up most of my spare time at school. The gathering was a lot less formal than usual, too. It took place in the campus coffee shop rather than the banquet-hall-like auditorium. Happy graduation, fam.

So college didn’t end quite the way I expected, but that’s okay. It didn’t feel great to have devoted so much of myself to a place—to deliver speeches to prospective students, to take part in interviews for possible honors scholars, to be the editor in chief of the newspaper—just to be shuffled out without so much as a cake.

There wasn’t even cake.

I don’t say all this to complain. Undergrad was an amazing, transformative, and wondrous experience for me. You see, I walked into that place with nothing and left with the knowledge, tools, and skills to make a difference in the world. I met the most amazing people, traveled to places I never thought possible (still dreaming of Portland), and did I mention I met some of the best humans? And, sure, I get to do all the graduation stuff in May—but by then it will be merely a memory in the rearview mirror of life. A life that, I hope, will be filled with laughter, joy, and a bank account not perpetually in decline.

At the end of it, when I packed up my car to head home for Christmas, I found that leaving was not as simple as driving away. I wasn’t even leaving for good, but just for the holidays. But with hands clenched on the steering wheel and tears threatening to roll down my cheek, I was faced with the reality that even though it didn’t feel like anything was different, everything really was about to change.

Spring is coming

I always thought I’d be going off to graduate school when I finished my bachelor’s degree; after all, one of the most significant dreams I’ve carried for years is to one day have “PhD” attached to my name. But the last year of my life has led me down a path filled with questions, a path that has yet to reveal many answers. I am, for the first time, learning to be okay with not knowing if I’ll ever become Dr. Nikki Edrington. I’m learning to be okay with this shifting identity because I have to be okay with it. But clinging tightly to a perception of myself for so long, no matter how many times life has tried to break it from my grasp, means that letting go for real takes a lot longer than a few weeks.

In the now

For now, I’m taking life day-by-day. I came home to spend some quality time with my parents for the first time in a long time, since I didn’t come home last summer. I’ve spent the last few weeks reading, brainstorming, dreaming, planning, aspiring, goal-making, and asking myself how I can best serve the world and the God I believe has called me to a life of impact.

Soon, this time of rest will end and will usher me into another season of life: a spring season, one where the seeds that have been long-planted will begin to work their way up through the thawing, muddy ground and toward the air and the light. Maybe then it will become real that I’m done with school for now or maybe forever. Who knows where the wind will blow—who knows how my life will change?

The winds of change have already led me to a few sure things: I cannot continue pursuing things that do not push me toward a life with purpose and meaning. In turn, this means that I must once again pursue those things that make my soul sing. The silence of my spirit has grown deafening.

Finding the summer sun

When you’ve been going through the motions for so long, operating on overdrive and merely trying to reach the end of a journey, the joy of a peaceful mind, body, and spirit becomes completely foreign. I don’t really remember what it’s like, nor do I remember how to get back to myself. But I know how to start.

The start looks like creating more and scrolling less, and it looks like working hard but not at the cost of my spirit. But most importantly, it looks like intentional relationships with loved ones—building community and abiding by it instead of holding on for dear life only when I have reached the end of myself.

For me, regaining what college stripped away means that I must create continually, be that through building worlds and characters on the page or by capturing beautiful spaces and faces with my camera. But I cannot continue to repress my absolute need to create. It’s what I was made to do. And when I am communing with my truest, most whole self—when I am allowing myself to create in a healthy space—then I am so much more capable of loving my people in the ways they need most. And they deserve it, to be loved deeply and fully and really, really well.

Do good

Maybe I am naïve to believe that all of these things could be mine, but I believe in abundant life that serves others more than it takes for itself.  I don’t want to live in a bubble of ignorance. No, I want to use my gifts, knowledge, and passions to do something good for this place.

In summary, I guess my goals for 2019 could be summed up with a simple phrase from the best educator to have ever graced our televisions, Mr. George Feeny:  “Believe in yourselves. Dream. Try. Do good.”

I sure will, Mr. Feeny. I sure will.

Share with the class

What makes your soul sing? Have you been pursuing that lately? If not, I hope you will be inspired to once again pick up the proverbial brush and get painting once more. Your life is meant to be lived abundantly, right now—I hope you know you are worth it. Let’s chat in the comments below, or head on over to my contact page to send me a message! (Also, don’t forget to check out my social media to follow along with #Inspired50 this year!)

With all my love,

Nikki