A Comforter, Shampoo Bottles, and Fear: What I Brought to College

  I wrote this blog seven years ago, when my first group of IB TOK seniors headed off to college. I have continued to revise and share it each year because the sentiment still remains the same. Today's blog is dedicated to anyone headed off to college this month--especially my former students from the Class of 2023 who I am going to miss. It's also dedicated to my own daughter, Maggie. I know I will be leaving a piece of my heart in Morgantown this week, but I also am so very excited and proud for what's to come for you. 

     I remember the car was filled to the brim when I went away to college. My dad is good at so many things, and I am sure from the looks of the picture below that my dad's "packing system" was unparalleled to none. I don't really remember how that empty car suddenly transformed into 18 years of life packed into one place, or where my brother, sister, and I sat. Yet, somehow we packed everything in and found a way for the five of us to get to Richmond. .

August 1993

My Dad and I right before I left for college

I felt like we had all of Costco in our van. We were never members of the megastore conglomerate, but weeks before I headed off to college, my mom took me there as her friend's guest to shop for "the essentials." Quite honestly, I felt like I was taking more to college than I ever would need. (Perhaps this explains the amount of shopping Maggie and I have done this summer). What I needed was courage. I needed friends. I needed grit and determination. I needed self-confidence. I needed to know how to balance a checkbook and make a long distance phone call (real struggles in the world before Venmo and on-line banking and cell phones). Yet, as we made our way down the driveway, headed seven hours south to the University of Richmond, I went with none of those things in tow...Only a comforter, sheets, and shampoo bottles that would last me all four years of college, if you want my honest opinion.

    I knew no one at the University of Richmond. Displaced from the North, I suddenly found myself among southern accents and barbecue that was vastly different from the way my family used the word. The cafeteria's inclination to fry everything (including things like okra--a vegetable I had never heard of before coming to Richmond) was unsettling. So was the idea that I was on my own. You see, when I think back on it, I'm not sure I was ready to be independent. I loved spending time with my family and friends. I was close to my teachers; some even attended my graduation party. Everything in college was big and new and so vastly different than the world from which I came. 

      The biggest thing I brought to college along with my comforter and shampoo bottles was fear...fear of not making friends, of not fitting in, of classes being too hard, of not connecting with professors, of missing home, of getting lost on campus, of not feeling like myself, of dropping my tray in the dining hall (I never did that, but I did spill scalding hot chocolate all over my lap once and screamed so loudly the entire football team stopped eating to look my way). I left high school with feelings of pride swirled with hope, dreams, and passion. I was the kid who was friends with everyone in high school. I had the respect of my teachers. I could walk down the hallway and know I belonged. But now all I could see was the fear I brought--packed into my suitcase so that you had to sit on top of it to close it. Fear wedged its way out slowly, creeping in all aspects of my initial college life. 

     The main thing I was afraid of? I was afraid to fail. Who was going to be there to catch me if I did? Who would show me how to brush it off or tell me to keep going despite the mistake? All of my life, I lived in this padded room. Yes, I made plenty of mistakes, but for every mistake, I had a cushioned landing. Someone was there to protect me, defend me, forgive me. What if college wasn't like that now that I was on my own?

      I wish I knew not to be so hard on myself when I entered college. I wish I knew not to put unnecessary pressures on myself, not to be afraid to fail. And I wish I had a teacher tell me it's okay to fail when I was eighteen years old. Trust me, I would have listened. All of my failures have made me stronger. All of my failures have made me who I am today. Bottom line: If there's one thing I could tell you before you head to college, it's this. It's okay to fail. You will do it more times than you will want to admit, but I can promise you every time it will make you stronger and better.

     So, own your failures. Don't make excuses. There might not be anyone to catch you when you fall this time; you've got to figure out that for yourself. Yet there comes a time in your life where you don't need that cushion; you don't need that padded room to allow your failures to fall upon. Now is that time to continue to stand up after you fall.  In college, you will grow and change and work hard and study and stay up late (okay, I think you already do that) and meet new people. High school will start to feel like a million miles away some days. There's no more dress code and set lunch times. Make good choices and take responsibility for your actions. Know more than anything, you have so much to offer the world. Know that new experiences help you grow. New experiences help you acquire courage and demonstrate grit. New experiences help you learn how to balance your checkbook.

    Here's the final thing I want to tell you that might apply. If you listen to anything I've written in this blog, this is what I want you to know: I need you to know that you matter. You will always matter to me. As a teacher, I never stop thinking about my students--where you are, what you're doing, who you're becoming. Maggie, as your mom, I am so grateful to have had a front row seat to watch you grow into who you are today. I may be leaving a piece of my heart in West Virginia, but I'll be returning home knowing you are ready for these new experiences. So as you pack your car and drive away from your homes, remember to leave your fears behind. Bring your confidence and your desire to make a difference and your oversized shampoo bottles. Hug your family. Call your parents. Spread your wings. Soar high--because you are ready. And remember I will always be proud, so very proud that you were my students, that I was your teacher.