To subconscious decisions


Emma Zawacki

A picture of my Converse sitting in a tweed basket up north

March 1st

A Tuesday that started with a splitting headache and an urge to crawl back into my bed, refusing to start the day. 

A Tuesday that ended in tears.

Because while my family and I were gathered on our living room couch, talking about our favorite parts of our days, I told them all that I was going to the University of Missouri next year.

It was then a blur of arms being wrapped around me and my mom crying as she realized I’ll be eight and a half hours away next year, but I couldn’t be more excited for the opportunities that I’ll be able to participate in.

My mom swears that when I was seven and named my Leopard Gecko “Tiger,” it was foreshadowing for this moment that I would be a Tiger, stuck in a loop of nostalgia as she realized I’ve made a college decision. And my brother and my father told me they’ve known for weeks—my dad had bought my mom a tiger stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day after we visited the campus.

And while they swore they knew for weeks, I’ve known since Sunday. 

The rest of my evening was a flurry of phone calls to my friends and relatives as I ended my night wrapped in my mom’s arms, both of us crying in the kitchen.

March 2nd

With it being March, my brother and I got Shamrock Shakes after school. I drove him home for the first time in weeks, and we listened to the album I’m reviewing next week float through my speakers as we waited in the drive-thru line—for the first time in a while, I felt at peace with myself. 

Because the air didn’t bite when I rolled my window down and I felt in control for once.

The evening was broken up by a nap I didn’t mean to take and reheated dinner that I had missed from a slumber I desperately needed.

And, all of a sudden, it was 11 o’clock, and I was watching videos on YouTube after crying over Avery’s editor’s column because I was—and still am—craving nostalgia in its purest form—clinging to past memories.

And while they swore they knew for weeks, I’ve known since Sunday.

March 3rd

Thursday was a flurry of learning how to use InDesign to make a perfect semi-circle—a feat I haven’t achieved, but it’s close enough.

And while the quiet of first hour will dance the lines of juxtaposition with a noisy sixth hour, I like the computer lab that has housed our class for the past couple of weeks.  

While February was good, March is going to be great.

A month full of melting snow that will return to the Earth and starting to bring out my summer clothes. A month that embraces you in warmth and reminds you that spring is coming, that all bad things come to an end, that, inevitably, all decisions get made, that everything will turn out ok.

Everything’s going to be ok.