This time last year, I was in a complete first-year slump. I spent my first round of midterms treading in deep water, straining to keep my chin above the surface. The entire week before fall break I was in a constant state of countdown for my mom to come in her minivan chariot and save me from the overrated, overwhelming hellhole known as college.
Normally, I cringe at the sight of the trusty minivan, vowing to my future self I’ll never invest in one of those heinous potatoes-on-wheels — yet those feelings vanished the moment my parents came in their spaceship to get me for fall break. That time I ran to the beckoning automatic passenger door, practically swan diving into the backseat as I told my chauffeur — okay, my mother — to hit the gas and get me home to Richmond stat.
The first topic of conversation on that short, sweet, 60-minute car ride was my transfer options, followed shortly by a pathetic Niagara of tears and my determined refusal to return to U.Va. I may have even floated the idea of living at home and dropping out, but the heaving sobs seem to blur the specifics in my memory. I was convinced I had made the wrong choice of school, and suddenly the thought of 10 years of student loan debt seemed welcoming, if only it meant the chance to study somewhere other than Mr. Jefferson’s University.
By the time we hit the exit ramp, I had taken some yoga breaths to collect myself and I was finally able to see again through the puffy slits that were my eyes — let it be known I am a super ugly crier. I was ready to accept my parents’ advice to give it at least one night’s rest before reopening that can of worms again.
But as we pulled into the driveway, I heard the faint rumble of my labrador retriever’s bark and the tears poured forth once more. I stumbled to greet her, putting her in an anaconda squeeze of a hug, professing my love for her and repeatedly reminding her that she was my best friend in the obnoxious Scooby-Doo voice I exclusively use with her. If anyone feels they have witnessed a more hilariously pathetic scene than this, speak now or forever hold your peace.
If I could relive that first month of college with the knowledge and comfort level I now possess, my journey would feel a lot less like walking the plank blindfolded. The urban legend that college is the best four years of your life was something I desperately wanted to be true. Having never particularly classified myself as a homebody, I was embarrassed and vulnerable in my lack of independence. I had once thought of myself as adaptable and easy-going, but quickly began to question the trust I had placed in myself to get along on my own. The first semester of first year felt like a nasty breakup in which all I could do to cope was ride out the ache with time.
I blame this struggle not entirely on my freak-out tendencies — which I realized I certainly do possess — but also on my lack of faith in the college myth. I didn’t listen when people told me to get involved, to explore Charlottesville and to introduce myself to random people here and there. I swept this advice under the rug and ignored it, thinking it was just something people say to make you feel better and make small talk.
But each of these is important. Involvement helps you know faces and keeps you from feeling lonely in the midst of thousands of people. Exploring Charlottesville helps you recharge your batteries and keep yourself from getting “cabin fever” on Grounds, so to speak. Perhaps the most dangerous thing is to fall into a routine you are unsatisfied with, because college only becomes comfortable when you develop a routine that empowers you and makes you happy.
When my parents sent me on my way to college last year and told me to buckle in for the best four years of my life, I had my doubts. But after a year of testing the waters, I know when to flow with a routine and when to mix it up with spontaneity. I know it’s not taboo to go home or leave Grounds. My first semester may have been a bit of a drag, and I may be down to three of the best years of my life, but I made it to my happy place. So too can any wayward soul, with time.
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