It seems I revisit this intercontinental shift around the same time every year.  Last fall, I immersed myself in Alaskan wildlife.  The year before, I balanced my Autumnal equinox under the gilded oak trees of the Midwest.  The year before-- well, you get my drift.  I suppose it’s nostalgic for me-- September and school go hand in hand, and what better reason for misty-eyed recollections than flashbacking to those formative years?  The feeling of starting fresh, a “new beginning” (or “do-over,” depending on your GPA), eased the pain of an ending summer; clean lockers and cheerful writing supplies promised a year of less bathroom-crying and more mall-date-kissing.  It’s amazing what a set of color-coordinated, three-ring five-subject notebooks does for the teenage soul.  Of course, these rewards lie far outside the academic box; twenty years of my life rode the bus in the name of education, and I’m not even remotely close to catching up with some of my doctoratal friends’ salaries or headaches.  

     But, really, it’s the feeling I’m after, as opposed to the actual credits.  Sure, I could re-enroll in college in an effort to further my horizons, maybe try a Masters on for size-- but the thought of studying for two years outside the comforts of the everyday 9-5 struggle? It pains, not invigorates, me.  And of course, like most memories, long-ago times tend to be seen through rose-colored silk.  Roommate/lover/best friend quarrels, sleepless nights, and owning massively less money than what you owe the government-- these bone-crushing moments melt away at the first sign of crisp air, cardigan sweaters, and neighborhood NYU kids loaded down with bags from Bed, Bath and Beyond.  Makes your heart grow a few sizes just thinking about it.

     As for this year, I’ve been entertaining thoughts of traveling to the Far East-- though I’m not sure how much deciduous foliage I’ll find in Tokyo, the view should be just as nice.  As long as I keep looking forward.