A heart's graffiti.

Leaves blanketing the walkway of the university made me take notice of the changing seasons. The sound and smell of fall summoned me to the days when I was in college, sitting on the quad or walking arm in arm.  Reliving memories was not as seductive a thought as doing things differently. Partying less and learning more, entertaining less and talking more, studying less and thinking more . . . all of it would be a dream come true.

Of all the subjects, the one I wish I had majored in was “me,” not to look adorningly into the mirror, but digging within for my true self. Getting beyond, or beneath, the veneer, and embracing my weaknesses as well as my strengths, would have been an education worth having. Instead of figuring out who I was going to be, I wish I had found out who I was. Rather than looking to the hills beyond, I wish I had learned to travel to the present.

Turning the corner on our campus tour, I noticed recently composed graffiti. To most it was of little importance, but to me it was paramount. Someone learned a life-changing lesson on the way to class. There, for anyone to notice, was the whispered achievement of a worthwhile education: I love me.