Going to a party school and not being a partier can be tough.
I thought that I would be broken out of my habits when I got to college. I thought that I would be out Thursday through Sunday, but here I am, still watching Dazed and Confused on a Saturday night, just like the past hundred Saturday nights.
Yet, there have been a few cracks in my comfortable shell. I do go out, not often, but I do go out. I get dressed up, do my hair, and smudge some eyeliner. I’ve found that I must take the few chances I get to show off that I actually know how to wear makeup.
Whenever I get to the place that I was going out to, my mind turns towards my next adventure: the walk home. My friends are older than me, so my going out is their pregame for going out. I cannot complete the journey with them, so I must make one of my own.
I love walking home alone after going out. Granted, this is said with immense privilege in a very safe college town. Part of the safety comes from so many people being out at any time at night. My walk home is through our town’s bar scene, past the frats, and then through the campus.
I like to imagine that I’m actually a part of that bar scene. I like to think about how, in a couple of years, I’ll meet up with my friends to wait in the longest of lines to have our IDs checked and then enter where everyone is.
It is walking past these lines that I feel like I’m a part of the story without having to do much. I strut in the shortest of skirts, clutching my mini purse and talking on the phone, past everyone I wish I were. In doing so, I hope that they see who I want to be. I want to be older, confident, and fun. A girl that goes out.
It is passing the bars that I see my future, but it is passing the frats that I see an unreachable present. The frat goers are those who can’t get into bars or haven’t even tried out their fake IDs. They are my age, yet I feel so much younger or older than them, disconnected from what my life should look like at this age.
I find it to be peaceful to look from the outside. I play a part in people’s coming-of-age stories, while mine occurs in the background. This is my Dazed and Confused. I observe others so that one day, I will be the one in a line for a bar being observed.