As I watch the days pass and the hours tick by before graduation, I feel a sense of dread and sweetness and anticipatory nostalgia. I think so much about the times I have spent wasting the hours away in the newsroom or the nights dancing in the kitchen with my friends or the mornings I rubbed my tired eyes and kept writing because I was on deadline for one thing or another. All of these moments are equally drenched in something special and equally hard to move on from; all of these moments were equally unimaginable to the 18-year-old version of myself.
As I watch these days pass and the hours tick by at what seems to be the speed of light, I remember what it felt like to wish them away; I remember what it felt like to want nothing more than for the day to end so that I could get into bed and forget the lonely oblivion I had sunk into. Most of all, I remember what it felt like to accept that college was something I would just have to get through, not something that I could ever love or something that I would ever miss.
When you’re young, you think you know everything. And – you especially think that you know everything about yourself.
It was about two weeks into college – at the University of Missouri – that I had deemed myself “not a college person.” While this sentiment was quite premature, it held true for the next four semesters. I remember doing what felt like a death march to the student union at Mizzou and watching girls walk by in groups of friends, coffees in hand and with smile plastered faces; not only did I envy them, but I resented them. I felt a pit in my stomach as I felt like that would never be me. I had friends in high school, I had people that I knew loved and cared about me, but I did not feel like I belonged there in any sense.
Once I transferred, I soon realized that I did not feel like I belonged at Marquette either. And at this point, I started to believe that the problem must be me.
I had a saint of a roommate, a wonderful set of opportunities laid before me and all of the support in the universe backing me. But still, college wasn’t going to be for me. I spent more time just trying to peel myself out of bed and tending to my tear-stained cheeks than I did anything else. However, I did what I was supposed to. I joined a few clubs and organizations that seemed up my alley, I went out of my way to try and make friends and I worked hard in my classes.
Still, the key wasn’t turning in the door. I was not happy.
All at once, everything changed. My world turned on its head when the relationship I had considered my only constant from high school into college ended in the worst imaginable way. It was then that I really had a “make or break” moment in front of me: I could either take this newfound life and hold it with both hands, or I could turn away and continue to trudge through the sadness slush I had found my feet more than wet with. Luckily, I did not choose the latter.
The truth of the matter is, I did not feel like I belonged anywhere because I did not even belong to myself.
Once I started making decisions for me and not the approval of other people – especially one person who was the farthest thing from my biggest cheerleader – I realized that I actually still did have that little girl living inside of me. The one who was bright eyed and bushy tailed and full of starry-eyed ambition. I had lost sight of her a little bit, but she was still very much alive.
So, I made the college experience my own. I wrote like I was running out of time, I made friends who I cry (happy tears) over and I made my wildest dreams a reality. I will step away from Marquette and onto other things, but I will never forget the way it made me feel. You never forget the way things make you feel.
I will never forget the way it helped pave a path to me finding myself or the friends and the love that it gave me. I will never agonize over the fact that I must leave it when it helped me find me.
This story was written by Grace Cady. She can be reached at [email protected].
