The summer before I left for college, five different people told me to “reinvent myself.” The first time my relative suggested the idea to me I found it to be insightful advice. I could be anyone I wanted to be. The third time, when my father brought it up in the middle of a family dinner, I thought it was funny. Maybe it had become a running joke and I needed to get on board. But the fifth time a stranger recommended my reinvention, I thought to myself, “Is there something wrong with who I am now?” Did I need to change that desperately?
I quickly realized I shouldn’t take it personally. The phrase said more about college than it did about me. Part of what makes college so wonderful is how removed it can be from life at home. You may be across the country, know absolutely no one, and decide to give yourself a nickname. That person is probably unrecognizable from the one who left home a few weeks earlier. That is reinvention. We adapt and change to our surroundings as any animal does. It doesn’t always have to be this epic journey of self-discovery.
College is unique in that it allows for this introspective analysis. Will you be the same person in one environment as you are in another? What is constant in your behavior? A crucial part of leaving for college is accepting the fact that you will change. It’s a built-in time in your life when change can be expected. In that regard, reinvention is comforting. Perhaps we should reframe the idea. Instead of “you should reinvent yourself,” maybe say “college will reinvent you.” Because it will.
Within my first two months at college, my reinvention has looked like this: I started wearing black ripped jeans and a Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt to see if maybe I was edgy; I stopped eating gluten for a day, curious to see if the healthy lifestyle was for me after all; I contemplated going to a Kenyon Republicans meeting and completely altering my political views. It surprised me when none of it stuck. No matter what I changed, I bounced back to this default version of myself. And that was all I needed to know: who I am amidst my ever-changing surroundings. Reinvention doesn’t require you to legally change your name or adopt a new religion. It’s simpler than that. It’s trying out new skins until one fits you, and maybe you’re already wearing it.
This is not a how-to guide for mastering the art of reinventing yourself; I am nowhere near mastering such a feat. This is my response to those five people who encouraged me to second guess myself (with a positive light). As a result, I uncovered my default self, which I bet I will continue to dig up as I grow up, move to far away places, and meet a world of people. My case is one in seven billion, so I do not presume to know how you might reinvent yourself. I only hope you feel comfortable in the skin you choose.