Yesterday evening, I worked my very last closing shift at my anonymous retail location. I helped my last customer, I made my last 10-minute announcement, I answered the phone one last time. And after three years, even though it was not always my favorite place to be, I can safely say that I will miss the place.

A large part of what made this job fulfilling (in addition to many great co-workers) was the fact that my brother worked there with me for my first two and a half years. Our time working together saw us develop a unique bond (at family gatherings, we never tired of swapping work stories), but it also saw Brian tirelessly chipping away at my immaturity with his constant encouragement to do a good job even when I didn’t want to. I really can’t thank him enough for taking the time to chide me when necessary; I truly believe I am more responsible because of his efforts.

So, why did I leave? The short answer is: it was time. It was time because I had worked there almost three years; it was time because I am moving back to school in just a few short weeks; it was time because my photography business is picking up and I intend to pursue it with all the gumption I can muster; it was time because I can’t do that and work at a store during the school year.

Oh yes, I really am going for “this photography business,” as I have taken to referring to it. It has been at the forefront of my mind through the entire summer, and lest you think I haven’t been taking pictures just because my Flickr stream has not been updated, I can assure you that I am sitting on all kinds of delightful photos that I can’t wait to share with you. Patience, friends. Patience.

But for the time being, I am editing like crazy and taking care of mundane (but kind of exciting) business details—and trying to absorb the fact that I am no longer “employed.” I’ve called life “an interesting ride” many a time, and it seems like the next year will not disappoint. Hold on tight.

I kicked and I screamed.

I plugged my ears and hollered at the top of my lungs.

But sooner or later, you have to give up…

… and admit that you are getting a cold.

*sigh *

One of my good friends (and fellow Gutenberg students) has described summer as a “pit-stop on the highway of life”—a time to relax, refuel…. and just sit there. Going nowhere.

Mind you, take my friend’s words with a grain of salt—he despises summer with rarely-seen fervor. But this year, I think he has a point.

I know it’s an odd sentiment from someone whose summer has been characterized by ceaseless activity, but I, too, have felt “paused” since the middle of June. Partly, I know, this is due to the unsettledness of my worldly possessions—one look at my bedroom floor, piled three layers deep with clean (or dirty; who can tell?) clothes, reveals the story of a girl who is perching, not nesting.

Another contributing factor is the absence of friends who became dear to me over the course of the school year. This is the first time I’ve had to deal with class- and house-mates leaving me for the summer, and I can’t say I like it.

But more than the practical realities of far-away friends or a messy room, something else is not quite right… something in the air at Gutenberg that is as hard to pinpoint as it is conspicuously absent from my summer.

It can’t be simply the absurd level of busy-ness that my life reached last school year, because between working at my anonymous retail location, shooting and editing four weddings, and trying to get my fledgling photography business off the ground, I’ve been rivaling that level all summer.

There is a qualitative difference, I’ve decided, between my activities at Gutenberg last year and those I’ve occupied myself with this summer. My summer undertakings have all locked my focus squarely on this temporal existence of ours. They’re fun, they’re challenging, they’re engaging—but they leave me weighted to the ground—engulfed by daily matters and completely oblivious to bigger, greater goings on.

Thankfully, Gutenberg does not hesitate to jackhammer away the kind of cement shoes I’ve been pouring myself all summer—eternal importance is peeking through the very weave of its curriculum. One cannot put themselves through the readings and discussions and interactions at Gutenberg without asking themselves what this whole “life” thing is all about—about what’s really, truly important. My soul is beginning to yearn for this atmosphere of fumbling and frank exploration.

My parents and I stopped by Gutenberg tonight as we were running errands, and we took the opportunity to check out the room I will be living in come fall. This tiny room, which I have longed to live in since I was ten years old (a story for another post, perhaps), has been tickling the back of my mind all summer—a tantalizing reminder of the school year that lies ahead. But not until tonight, as we measured for curtains and a desk, did the reality of the coming year really hit me.

Suddenly, that amorphous feeling of Gutenberg nostalgia solidified into four walls, a ceiling and a floor—this room would be my Gutenberg. This is where I would read, and laugh, and cry, and have my mind blown in ways I can’t even imagine. It was all real. We were coming back for another year. And I couldn’t have been happier.

I have to admit: as far as pit-stops go, this summer’s been a pretty nice one (definitely one of those fancy gas stations that has really clean bathrooms). I have so much to be thankful for, and so little to really complain about. I know that. I do.

But even so, I hope you’ll understand me when I say: I’m ready to hit the road.

In an imaginary book entitled “How to Write a Blog and Not Have People Hate Your Guts,” there would undoubtedly be a chapter dedicated to the prohibition of false promises.

This imaginary chapter in this imaginary book could easily use my blog as a case study of what not to do.

Take, for example, this quote from my last post, written approximately (*gulp *) three weeks ago: “I have a real, honest-to-goodness, more-than-three-sentences-long post about something other than photography coming soon, I promise.”

Ooh, there it is; the “P” word; and I don’t mean “photography.” Mom always taught me not to promise anything I couldn’t be 100% sure of delivering. I guess that lesson hasn’t quite sunk in yet.

So, look for a new post… someday. About something.

If you’re lucky.