2008 Woodie Awards
All Elle. All The Time.
Danielle Kuehnel
- Page 1 of 1
On the last Sunday of Spring Break 2005, I pulled up to the Arbor Park parking lot with one intention: prepare for the end of the year.
As soon as I had dropped my backpack and duffle bag on the floor of my apartment, I slowly walked to the communal closet and pulled apart the three rolling doors. I looked inside, expecting a hoard of cobwebs and dust an inch thick, ready to fly all over me as soon as the doors were completely moved.
I nervously stuck my head inside the large closet to find it exactly how I had left it that fall. The wire shelf hosted some cleaning supplies, laundry detergent and a phone book, and a rocking chair that came with my apartment held up a plethora of folded cardboard boxes on the floor.
Considering my next move for approximately two seconds, I reached for a rather large piece of cardboard and carried it back to my bedroom. I carefully unfolded the parcel, and began to put my belongings into it.
What could I possibly live without? I thought to myself.
That first box contained my purple trendy tote, some glass cleaner, a dustpan and the living room lamp.
My roommates, just getting back from Sunday church first looked at me in confusion.
“What are you doing, Danielle?” they asked with cocked eyebrows.
“Moving out,” I simply replied.
“But it’s only the first week of the term!” My roommates were scandalized that I had already begun to load my car with cardboard boxes and Rubbermaid containers.
I started with the cleaning supplies and a lamp.
The next week, I ripped all of the framed posters and paintings from my walls.
After that, it was the pots and pans.
Each weekend that I went home to Portland, the loads in my trunk or in the backseat of my car got progressively larger, filling the space with clothes, Christmas lights, towels, hairspray, portable rolling drawers and gigantic boxes of shoes.
Soon, I found myself in a bedroom with no decorative pillows, no curtains, and nothing inside the desk or in the refrigerator.
It wasn’t the fact that I didn’t like my apartment, and I didn’t do it because I felt like living simplistically.
I began to get rid of all my stuff because I was ready for this year to be over. Even though I started to pack up my belongings and my life at school when there was still one-third of the school year left, my mind was already in the summer-mode.
Now, I go home to my apartment in the evenings and do my homework, quietly, in an almost completely bare square of a room.
In all honesty, though, the packing that I had begun was not done in vain; it was just a matter of time before it’d all have to be gone anyway.
But now, more than ever, I realize that it is time for this year to be over. This year has been a wonderful blessing in many different ways—I’ve had many memorable experiences: being introduced to and working with journalism for the first time, traveling across the country and meeting lots of new friends. However, this year, I’ve also felt the pressures of stress and deadlines, of late nights, hurt feelings and spurts of depression.
The wonderful thing about ends-of-the-year is that summer hails the start of something new for everyone—whether that be graduating and finding a job or going to grad school, moving up the class ladder or teaching a group of students during the next term. While we can keep the wonderful memories that the previous year has brought, we can now look forward to the new memories in the days, weeks, months, years to come.
Yes, I may have been crazy for beginning to pack my things the first week of spring term, but can you hardly blame me for looking forward to the end?
Thank you to everyone who made my first year at the Journal wonderful. I’m looking forward to next fall!