I’m not one to throw things away.

I lived at the college over the summer, and many breaks were taken up by track and cross-country trips. My dorms became more familiar than my bedroom. Now I have to choose whether I’d rather have a walkway through my room or a bed to sleep on. The lack of room in my childhood bedroom feels like a metaphor for how I’m quickly outgrowing the space I filled in my parents’ home for 22 years.

I’m momentarily stuck in a weird in-between. I’ve turned in the key to my dorm, left the numerous work-related and running-related group chats I’ve had for years, and am now awaiting the resolution to, “What’s next?” I’ve been in an anxious, squirrelly state of constantly checking my email, hoping for responses to job interviews or updates on ongoing interview processes. Hoping for reassurance or a glimpse of stability at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t completely doubt my abilities or my employability. But this time is confusing, scary, and mostly weird. I don’t know what to change my email signature too. Unemployed?

I won’t be sitting here for long, though. I get the opportunity to learn from journalists at POLITICO next week. This will be just my third time on a plane, my first alone. It’ll be my first time in D.C., and I’m hoping to not mix up all the white buildings or take the wrong train.

I’m sure this period of uncertainty is just another stage in the grand scheme of things. Having parents, friends, and a significant another worry about where you’ll be in a few weeks. Experiencing the pressure of making correct decisions. Wondering when you’ll actually be back in a routine.

I’m hopeful that I’ll find a place to put all of my newspapers soon. They can’t keep taking up my bed.