Tomorrow will be my first day of school in twenty-five years. I hope to finish what was abruptly disrupted and finally complete my BA in English at forty seven years old. My new pink backpack is perfectly stocked. The familiar and foreign lay side by side in a tidy pencil case: the mandatory iClicker, Apple pencil, my favorite black roller pens, assorted highlighters, and back up reading glasses. My first iPad has its own home too.

Firsts have always been traumatic for me. My first steps were practiced quietly in my crib. My mom happening upon this secret while checking in on me through a crack in the door. I would also practice talking behind the same closed doors, just to become silent once they were opened. I withheld my first words from the world – until I was certain I could speak without error.

The fear of firsts continued from grade school until graduation. The start of any given school year was preceded by weeks of night-terrors. Hours of inescapable dreams where familiar walks to school suddenly became torturous mazes of known landmarks with no exit.

Though anxiety wasn’t a word for my generation, my mom did her best to alleviate what she called “first day jitters.” Each year, prior to the start of school, she would instruct me to walk to school while she followed in her car, a block behind. A confidence booster. I mark my attended schools by “the Volkswagen school,” or “the Fiat school.” The latter school was short lived and a clunker, like the car.

Earlier this week, my boyfriend and I walked the campus of my new brick and mortar school. Like that child followed by her mom over the years in an assortment of second and third hand cars, we memorized the paths I will need to take.

I tripped twice. It was that kind of trip that generally happens when none of your friends are around to laugh with you – just strangers, forcing you to choose between laughing at yourself or pretending it didn’t happen. The second time I tripped, it was in the same spot. I looked down and noticed the curb was painted so pedestrians would take note of the damaged walkway. Noted.

I thought about that toddler that would only walk behind closed doors, first steps taken – only when no trips were guaranteed.

Tomorrow there will be many firsts. Then more, and more again. I hope I trip – as who ever learned anything without tripping?