When I was a little girl, I left for my first day of kindergarten without a glance behind my shoulder. Every first day of school looked the same. “Bye mom. Bye dad.” Until my last day of school. On my last day of High School, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. 1 month later, I moved 6 hours away from home. Too far to go home for a weekend. A drive that felt hard to do in a day. My parents dropped me off at college and instead of my signature “Bye mom. Bye dad.” I watched their car drive away until I could barely see it. Hard to know if it was too far to see clearly or if the tears I was pretending not to notice were blurring my vision. Months went by and I couldn’t figure out why my world felt like it stopped moving. Then, in the bottom of my backpack, I found a small polished rock. Not just any old rock. An agate.
In hindsight, I don’t think I was ready for college. My four years of High School were the longest I’d ever been in one place. It took me four years to really settle in, but once I found home in the band room, I never wanted to leave. I had never felt so at home, anywhere. By the end I felt like everything I had built was about to tumble off a waterfall and all I could do was watch. During my last month of High School, I cried every single day. Dramatic, I know. On my last day, I cried until I had no tears left. I hid under the stacks of instruments, hoping if I didn’t leave, it wouldn’t be over. On that day, my band director gave me a gift. His favorite hobbies were playing avant garde saxophone and agate collecting. He had a rock dealer and everything. On my last day in the only place I felt was home, my band director gave me an agate.
Recently, someone once asked me what I’m running away from. They said everyone in this world is either running from or towards something. When I was 18, I didn’t trust myself to chase what I wanted. I would stumble through the world not knowing if I was running away or I just couldn’t figure out where I was going. I continued to return to the place that felt the most like home, my High School band room. My band director always had an unwavering belief in me. Even when I knew I was wandering in circles, he assured me I would find what I was looking for. He passed away before I found my footing. I didn’t know where I was going, but somewhere along the way I realized I didn’t need to. I’ve never thought of myself as a runner, just a fast walker. And I think at my core, I am constantly wandering, exploring, walking through doorways without knowing what’s on the other side. But I carry nostalgia with me, like an agate in my pocket. Weighing me down just enough to remind me where I’ve been and who has helped me get to where I am now.
Honestly, I think that little girl would be proud. If he could see me now, I think my band director would be proud too. I often miss him. I wish I could tell him about all the things I’ve seen, the places I’ve wandered, how I still don’t quite know where I’m going, but I’ve learned that maybe the wandering is the point.
What I would give to be able to tell him that I visited the birthplace of the saxophone.
That’s why, to this day, there is always an agate in my pocket. Grounding me, steadying me, a reminder of where I’ve wandered, and who believed I’d find my way.