My pillowcase smelled like a leather couch in southern Missouri.
I spent the night there before a job interview, curled up under a blanket at my friend’s parents’ house. And later, back in my own bed, I breathed in the scent and tried to relax into sleep. The faint, lingering odor was comforting.
Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly the smell. Maybe it was the fleeting memory that came with it, the memory of people who had never met me but let me spend the night on their couch. It reminded me that somehow or another, I’m always taken care of.
The thing about graduating is that it comes with a lot of uncertainty. The majority of my life feels like one big question mark. Sure, there are things I hope or want to happen, maybe even some things I think have a good chance of happening. But I don’t get to say a lot with certitude. It’s exciting, sometimes, but it’s just as often more than a little disconcerting.
Yet I’ve found that when my perceptions of the unknown threaten to get out of hand, something always seems to come along to remind me that life will work itself out eventually. A couch to sleep on. A little extra cash. An honest conversation.
The little things always remind me that whatever happens, it’s going to be OK.