try to remember that this too is an adventure.
Living alone in the three story house? Buying bread and bringing it home in a sack? Scales on the piano in the room in the attic? From the window, the chimneys of row houses redden; you imagine you are Kate Bush at nineteen.
The pumpkin fest. The apple fest. The train cars slicing your view of the campus? Adventure.
The clock in the tower striking six o'clock in snow? Adventure.
The winter? The round barn? Telling him that you love him?
You will never again be 27, with half-blonde hair and a dirty coat, writing your first--perhaps only--novel, swinging your bag as you walk, sniffing for ghosts, running into friends at every corner, the mathematician, the Shakespearist, the bicycle racer, meeting them all again for Chinese.
This life, this living, this pushing through...one day you will look on this and wish.