Forward Thinking

Next Labor Day, my life will be unrecognizable from my life this Labor Day. First of all, I may not even be in the States, so no one around me will be celebrating Labor Day. No matter where I am, though, I will still pin on a black name tag—"Sister Sutton"—and hit the pavement for a day of hard work. Instead of the twenty-one books I'm going to read for my classes this semester, I will have the expansive library of five religious texts to entertain me. Next Labor Day, I will no longer be an undergrad, something less than a real adult, but a graduate, something big and isolated and insecure. Next Labor Day, I will not be preparing for a new school year. I've prepared for a new school year every Labor Day for eighteen years. This Labor Day, I swam and visited friends. Next Labor Day, I will avoid water and wish one of my friends had written.

This Labor Day is the beginning of an end. Next Labor Day will be the middle of an interim.