Two weeks into college, I’m beginning to settle into my new life at Swarthmore. I navigate campus with confidence: I know the shortcuts to class, where to grab a late meal at the Sci Cafe, and how to find the spots that every student claims as “essential.” Most days I feel like I blend in, indistinguishable from all the other first years. Beneath the surface though, I share, for better or worse, the same blend of anxiety, curiosity, and hope that comes with starting over.
Having said that, despite the routines and the similarity to hundreds of classmates, this place doesn’t quite feel like home. There’s a bit of an ache/somewhat ache beneath the excitement. A type of awareness that I’m still adrift, still searching for something familiar in a sea of new experiences. I think often about my friends back home and how our paths took different paths at the end of the summer. Not all the memories I yearn for are the highlights but also the ordinary days: track workouts I used to dread, ten-mile runs on stubborn legs, pick-up soccer games with my siblings, playful teasing, and late-night conversations with friends. Those everyday moments I used to take for granted now stick with me. They have turned into memories I really cherish, exactly because I overlooked their value at the time.
It’s strange how revisiting these previous memories sharpens the edges of what once seemed dull. Perhaps we only realize the beauty of these memories after they have passed us by. Now, in the quiet of my dorm, I understand that missing home isn’t just about longing for this joy; it’s about missing moments that felt unremarkable, moments I didn’t know mattered at the time.
Maybe this sense of not belonging isn’t just about missing the past. It might be about the daunting freedom that lies ahead, not fully knowing who I want to be or what shape these coming years will take. Orientation week’s queries still echo: Who am I here? Who do I want to become? Maybe it’s simply too soon to feel rooted.
No matter the reason, the future is intimidating. But it never pauses for us; we are already living it. I remember something a friend told me once that I pondered upon when contemplating what lies ahead, that is: “Do not leave anything for later. Later the coffee gets colder. Later people grow old.” Those words remind me not to let the future slip by simply because I’m clinging too tightly to the past, because it will be gone just as those four years of high school have. So, to anyone that is feeling remotely the same, know that college will become home in time, as long as we keep our coffee and our ambitions warm, fresh, and alive.
