For this blog post, I racked my brain trying to remember one shiny anecdote from my freshman year that perfectly encompasses the highs, lows and time of transition of that season of life. But I have nothing. Instead, I look back at freshman year as a learning period, one where I came into my own and helped me make the most of the three years to follow.
My freshman year, I lived in Sears Hall, which was next to where the Thornton building was being constructed. Apparently, this was in the days of Noah since it rained for 40 days and 40 nights, turning the construction site into a mud pit. The soundtrack to my walks to class was the squelch and splash of mud and water over my shoes and up my pant legs.
Fact: No freshman girl is going to pick up Mr. Right looking like Swamp Thing from the shins down.
To top it off, passing cars would zip by, sending a tidal wave of street water crashing over my head. No umbrella could withstand attacks of that magnitude.
After several soggy trips around campus, I learned how to avoid looking like the Wicked Witch of the West post-water bucket. Sophomore year came around, and with it, a pair of rain boots that made the next three years far less muddy.
And while that is a small lesson learned, there were many others. I changed my major in the second half of my freshman year, realizing I was not meant for the pre-pharmacy one I had declared. I was dumped in my first, short-term college relationship. But, with these challenges, I gained a pair of “rain boots” for each, learning from the discomfort and changing my approach, ending up with a more fitting major and my own Mr. Right.
My freshman year taught me to never underestimate those initial challenges, the growth that comes with them, and a good pair of rain boots.
Jennifer Hannigan, copy editor/writer
Tags: Freshman year