During the first few weeks of my brand-spanking-new college life, I kept wondering when the whole ordeal would finally feel like home. I’d scroll through my Facebook feed, seeing old high school friends and other acquaintances posting photos of themselves wearing matching onesies with their newly acquired roommates-turned-best-friends (in as little as 24 hours!), the former class clown and his new frat friends engaging in a stimulating game of beer pong, and all the new timeline photos of all the pretty girls dressed up and ready to prowl that weekend’s slew of parties.
For me, a glorious weekend consists of me curled up in a snuggie, eagerly streaming season three of Downton Abbey from my laptop, mug of chai tea in hand. Go on, make fun. I’ve been called an old soul more than once during my time here. But now and again, I can’t help asking myself, what is wrong with me and how can I get rid of the little old lady living in my body?
Little did I know, I was also subconsciously looking for people on my campus to replace the ones I’d left behind in my beloved hometown – the best friend whose camera captured all our greatest memories, the longtime pal with his old-man spirit and Canadian quips, the witty former editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, and perhaps even the familiar hometown hobo who strolls the main intersection in endless search for quarters.
Perhaps also, my faithful viewership to the sitcom How I Met Your Mother has shaped my idealistic hopes of how things “should be.” I suppose I was looking for a Barney Stinson in addition to the above folks; a sharply dressed bro or bro-ette to aid me in my attempts to make these next few years legendary. But to little avail.
(*Quick disclaimer: On the off chance that any of the people I’ve come to know within the past five months are reading this, please don’t be offended. You’re awesome. I’m still working on it.)
Not that I’m complaining. My classes are fine, my major’s great, my professors are for the most part making an effort to know my name, I’m living life on my own schedule, I have a job, my room/hallmates are wonderful, and I’m looking forward to what 2013 has to offer me on an academic/career level. But something was (and still is) missing, I’m sure.
When I came home for Christmas break just a few weeks ago, I to a certain extent dreaded seeing old friends and hearing all about their amazing new lives.
“So how have you been enjoying [fill in the blank with name of college/university]?” I’d manage to muster to the 20+ people I had reunited with during the holidays.
Much to my surprise, the answers were not all that I expected. On one occasion, a friend said that she hadn’t met anyone particularly interesting or cool (one of those two, I forget). Another admitted to hating his racist roommate. Some even grimaced a tad when I ventured to ask the above question.
Don’t get me wrong. There were and will always be the “Ohmigodiloveeverythingabout[fill in the blank with school]andeveryoneit’ssoooooooogreat” kids. And I’m happy for them. Truly. But nothing beats the feeling of being comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your thoughts.
So here’s to you and me, the people who are patient, realizing that the real adventure starts when it is least expected. And it’ll be legendary.