It doesn't get old. I walked into the first floor social lounge as a pang of memories hit me in the face. The room was drenched in air freshener, yet the room still had the same distinct "Maple Hall" smell. It's not the loveliest, I have to admit, yet in that moment I miss it.
It's easier dealing with the memories now, with it being Junior Year. Sophomore Year was a weird transition zone and was like, "Oh noes, my classes are freaking hard and I miss all my friends and everything is so different from freshman year, wahhhhhh," but Junior Year is like, "It's cool; we've done this before. There's continuity and that's great." Now I see Maple 159, or the study room, all lit up and it makes me smile. And the memories that hit me in the face just remind me of some of my favorite things.
I mostly dislike change, needless to say. Yet I love the change of seasons. Yeah, I gotta hand it to summer for being the best season (besides baseball), but when it comes down to it, I love the first snow, the first warm day of spring with green grass, and the day you notice the leaves turning yellow. I love the days you don't need a coat, but it's still cool enough for an argyle sweater and socks. I love the first time getting coffee for the purpose of enjoying it rather than out of necessity of staying awake in Field Methods. The autumn transitional zone might be the best because it encompasses my favorite parts of of both seasons: the weather, crickets at night (that aren't drowned out by the drone of the fan), the sound and smell of rain, and freshly baked spice cake, which reminds me of Thanksgiving.
If I mostly dislike change, why would I love the changes of the seasons, this "boundary layer" sort of concept? Why do I immediately analyze, plan, and prepare yet love spontaneity?
Maybe it's the same reason I think turbulence is the most fun part of a plane ride.
