Ah growing up.

"Neil, this is my friend 'Ash---.' She's the smartest person I know."

It shone through. Her quiet self-confidence, calm yet magnetic, constantly turned every head towards her, despite the most humble efforts to do just the opposite. While the conversation spun around the coffee table, bouncing from one person to the next between sips of hearty zinfadels and cab savs (acidic reds for the spicy fall flavors, naturally), she sat off to the side, rarely interjecting with her thoughts. But when she did speak, people listened. Not the type of listening where one is waiting for the chance to speak, but the earnest wish to understand.

All of this entered me, filled me, and left me stricken quiet. A rare occurrence. It was only during my trip home, reflecting on the events of the night, did I realize her physical beauty and grace was as striking as her intellect. It has been a long time that one's qualities have been revealed in that order.

Despite appearances to the contrary, the chance meeting of this person was not what amazed me. It was that I believe this signals the deeper emotional change that is going to occur soon. I am self aware enough to recognize the snowball I created 5 months ago--I just don't know where the snowball is headed.

That change manifests itself in the smallest ways. Tonight I carved a pumpkin. This decidedly juvenile activity shouldn't have been a revelatory experience, but I scooped out the pulp with my hands. Not a spoon. When I was a child and my sister and I would carve pumpkins, my father would always scoop out the goop--an activity I could never bring myself to do. I always thought that it was amazing that he could just stick his hand in there, unafraid, and pull out the insides. Not only did the activity feel so slimy, the it had a certain brutality about it. Tonight, however, it didn't phase me. I've accepted the mantle of adulthood.