Butterflies

On my very first day of kindergarten, I got to walk to the bus stop with my mom and wait for the “big kid” bus. I was assigned a fifth-grade helper who walked me to my classroom from the bus. As we walked to the bus stop, I felt this exhilarating sensation in the pit of my stomach that felt both like I wanted to burst out laughing and like I wanted to go back home. I asked my mom what it was.

“Butterflies,” she said.

Now, nearly 23 years later, I am awaiting another “first day” of class (one of so so many), and I have butterflies. Who are these people I’ll meet in ten minutes? What challenges will they present to me? What will I learn from them? How will our short, five-week semester go?

There’s something comforting in these anxious, fluttering butterflies. It’s reassuring, familiar, a sort-of ritual. I have never not felt butterflies on the first day of class. I wonder about the day when they’ll stop, and I hope that day never comes.