One of my favorite things about school is when I discover a new term or theory that seems to perfectly explain a phenomenon I’ve already noticed in my own life. What some people refer to as “Aha!” moments, when something finally clicks, like when you first learn about physical states of matter as a kid and finally understand why the ice melts in your lemonade on a hot summer day.

For me, the most recent of these “Aha!” moments occurred while reading for my narrative theory class when I stumbled upon the words ‘anomalous suspense’. Anomalous suspense, a term coined by psychologist Richard Gerrig, is used in narrative comprehension to explain the experience of suspense when a reader already knows how a story will end. It also applies to other narrative forms such as movies. Like when I watch Finding Nemo for the thousandth time (because come on, who hasn’t?) and all the fish are stuck in the net at the end of the movie and I always worry they won’t make it out alive even though I know, of course, that they will. That is anomalous suspense.

By definition suspense demands an uncertainty about how things will turn out. This suspense is anomalous, or irregular or strange, because the reader or viewer already knows what is going to happen, but seems to lack access to that knowledge she clearly possesses.

Upon reading about anomalous suspense I immediately thought about how I was feeling just four days earlier as I returned to Carleton College for my senior year. As I drove into the small city of Northfield I felt an uneasy feeling creep inside me even as I passed familiar landmarks. The “Cows, Colleges, and Contentment” sign that greets you at the city limits, the Malt-O-Meal factory next to the train tracks, the Cannon River. Anxious excitement continued to build as I got closer to campus. Anomalous suspense describes how I felt perfectly.

Obviously this feeling is slightly different from the proper use of the term when re-reading a novel, when you literally know the ending of the story. I didn’t, of course, know exactly what lay ahead of me, but after four years at Carleton I had a pretty good idea. I would get to campus, unpack, move into my room, and see all my friends again. But the suspense built inside me as if I had forgotten all that and feared that anything besides cows, colleges, and contentment would greet me as I arrived at school.

I guess some people would call this nervousness, which is in many ways quite accurate. But what pushes me towards calling it suspense is the feeling of excitement that mixed in with the anxiety. That moment when you’re covering your eyes during a scary movie but can’t help but take a peek between your fingers to watch what happens. An important part of suspense is the desire to reach the end. And I was excited, to get to school and start senior year and experience all the good times and challenging times that I already knew lay in front of me.

So I’ve decided that it is a good thing to feel this anomalous suspense when returning to school or doing other familiar things. It means that despite the familiarity nothing ever gets old. I still get to experience a range of emotions with everything I do, whether it is the anxiety of starting a new school year or the joy of reconnecting with roommates and remembering the thrill of a heated class discussion. And just like in a movie, when the good guys finally get the bad guy you already knew they would catch, I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m back settled on campus with the best of friends, just like always, and I know that everything is right in the world.