Going to college for the first time this past fall was probably the most exciting moment of my life while simultaneously being the scariest. There was a great shift surrounding the summer after my senior year of high school, and there were many days that I felt like I was toeing the edge of a very tall cliff. There were days I felt nothing but adrenaline at the thought of jumping, and there were days where all I wanted to do was run away and never look back.
I’d accounted for a lot going into my first semester. I brought a mini iron just in case any of my shirts that never wrinkled potentially wrinkled for once. I brought three different blankets just in case I forgot that fall in Florida fluctuated around a steamy 80 degrees. Just like any freshman, I was overprepared.
Also just like any freshman, I was, somehow, very unprepared. One moment I was relishing in my newfound freedom, and the next I was hanging up after a 45-minute-long phone call with my dad. I’d sat back at my desk and realized that there was now the longest conversation I’d ever had with him just sitting in my recent calls list like it was nothing.
So, in other words: I had not accounted for all the different ways that college would come to change the relationships I had with the members of my family.
It’s no secret to anyone that knows me that I’ve always been closer to my mom. College, expectedly, found me calling her often to tell her everything—which professors I liked, what I was eating for dinner. But, at the same time, I found that I was telling her nothing. I had always been so dependent on venting about anything and everything to my mom, but here I was, telling her only the most mundane stories about college because it was easier. I wasn’t telling her about how lost I felt or how there were so many days that I just wanted to go home. I wasn’t telling her that I felt like I was walking around campus wearing another person’s clothes.
I don’t think it was a bad thing, though. I ended up telling her everything eventually—after it had started to feel like I was wearing things from my own closet again. Going to college came with the realization that there would be things I had to learn to deal with on my own. Growing up meant that yeah, I was going to call my mom and tell her I had soup for dinner for the third night in a row. But, growing up also meant that I was going to have to rip the band-aid off and learn how to navigate this new chapter of my life without asking for her advice every step of the way.
Things changed between my dad and I, too. It was quite the opposite situation—my dad and I had never been best friends. I still don’t think we are, but I’ve made my peace with the fact that sometimes your parent is just your parent. Still, being away at college seems to have brought us closer. He’ll call me every so often—never as often as he calls my brother, but I’m okay with that. We’ll talk about my classes and if I have any exams coming up. Inevitably, he’ll get carried away after I mention something that sparks his interest. Then, 45 minutes will pass, and I have to go because I have a meeting. We’ll say our goodbyes, I’ll hang up and feel like a new person. The high school version of myself would never have even thought about entertaining a conversation that long with him. And yet, here we are.
I’ve always been a creature of habit. But, if there’s one thing that I’ve learned after my first year of college, it’s that I have to keep learning and reminding myself how to be flexible. Sometimes, it pays to let the old versions of yourself and who you thought you were in order to make room for all the new moments that are yet to come.
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