Going Back to College

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For the first time in my life I’m not going back to school when all my friends are. I’m not shopping for a first day of school outfit and I’m not moving back in looking for the perfect bedspread to change up my room yet again. It’s a different feeling for me, one that I’m not quite sure I like. See, I loved school. I loved school at home and I loved college. I think it’s easy to get lost in the craziness of assignments and sorority functions and lose the love you have for this specific time in life.

Take it all in. Enjoy everything you can and love everyone you can. Skip class to go to a concert, go to class even when you’re exhausted. Talk to that cute boy and dance the night away at a bar where no one else is dancing. Do anything and everything you can and want to because college is and will always be about more than just the books you read and grades you make.

I can’t remember why I was so nervous studying for my Mass Comm Law test a couple semesters ago, but I remember the drive back from Leakey where some of my best friends helped me study so well I made an 80 in a class I thought I was going to fail.

I can’t remember why I got frustrated with members of my sorority last but I remember all the volunteering I got to do with them, every rush night of Cards Against Humanity, every big/little reveal and everything in between.

I can’t remember every story I wrote at The DT but everyone I came in contact with I hold in such high regard and I am so blessed to be able to know them.

I definitely can’t remember every fight and disagreement my college boyfriend and I got into, but I can remember how happy he made me when he let me pick the movie and when he came over to help when I was sick.

The bad things, the grades and, honestly, quite a bit of the information will fade with time, but it’s the memories you make and the people you hold dear that will shape your college experience.

Here’s a quote I LOVE from Lena Dunham’s book “Not That Kind of Girl”

There I am half listening to a professor when she tells me I need to start attending class more regularly. And I’m there, too, dragging a tord sofa into the black-box theater with my “set designer.”

If I had known how much I would miss these sensations I might have experienced them differently, recognized their shabby glamour, respected the ticking clock that defined this entire (college) experience. I would have put aside my resentment, dropped my defenses. I might have a basic understanding of European history or economics. More abstractly, I might feel I had truly been somewhere, open and porous and hungry to learn. Because being a student was an enviable identity and one I can only reclaim by attending community college late in life for a bookmaking class or something.


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