Sophomore year of college I was an RA at the wonderful, glorious and beautiful University of Georgia. I was responsible for the second floor and because there was another staff member on my floor, my room was at the very end of the hall (don’t feel sorry for me, my room was twice the size of a normal RA room). It was a long hallway, but most days I didn’t notice as I passed by my residents checking in on their days and giving hellos and whatnot. However, one day, I was exhausted. Like climbing one flight of stairs seemed too overwhelming exhausted. I opened the door at the top of the stairs and turned to the left and froze. This was the longest hallway in all the world. It just kept going on and on and on. My royal blue backpack suddenly weighed the equivalent of a middle schooler. At that moment, I really wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it to my room. I knew that if I could get there, I could crawl into bed and sleep and all would be fine, but walking the ten million miles of ugly carpeted, concrete walled hallway seemed impossible, crippling.
That’s how life feels right now. Impossible. Crippling. I feel paralyzed as I look into the next 6 months. How am I supposed to take a step forward on this ugly, ugly carpet? And for that matter, how did I even get here? Nothing feels okay. Nothing is okay. Responsibility weighs me down. I know that if I could just take one step, I could probably make it, but I can’t make my feet budge. I know that at the end there is something good and good for me. I know I will be glad and relieved, but now its just burdensome. Life is the longest hallway.
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