My memories of my freshman year of college are so vivid, yet simultaneously fuzzy.

I remember the day my parents dropped me off. We were standing on Hearn Plaza, surrounded by hordes of other incoming freshmen and their parents. Upbeat chatter and music from the marching band filled the air. The sun was blinding—a plus for me, as I could blame my rapid blinking and tears on its brightness. I recall how green the grass was, my head facing the ground to avoid eye contact with any of my peers who might be able to suspect my nerves. I tried to be brave and gave my parents a quick goodbye hug, even though we all knew I wanted to hold on forever.

I remember getting lost on my first day of classes and bursting through the door of my Writing 111 class late, out of breath and embarrassed. I remember logging onto the Zoom meeting for sorority recruitment, terrified that no one would want me. I remember feeling like I would never feel comfortable here.

But I don’t remember how the girl I met over Instagram DM became one of my best friends. I don’t remember how my acquaintance from my freshman year advising group became my senior year roommate. I don’t remember how I ended up with people to take trips with, friends for Saturday morning farmer’s market visits and weekly “Tell Me Lies” watch parties. 

Along the way, I picked up people who make me laugh until my sides hurt. People with whom I can sit in silence, who know nothing needs to be said. People who know my coffee order, what time I like to get up in the morning and my favorite songs. Somewhere along the way, Wake Forest became my home.

Change is the only constant

The transition from high school to college was not easy for me. I was one of the only people from my graduating class to go out of state, and it felt isolating.

I hated how hard everything seemed. I hadn’t made new friends in years, and as self-sufficient as my parents raised me to be, I still called them whenever a new challenge presented itself.

What I really hated was the fact that nothing was the same as it used to be. I missed being comfortable and able to forecast what was coming next.

Last semester, I took English Romanticism with Dr. Eric Wilson. The work of the Romantic period, often described as sublime, is characterized by its “all-or-nothing stance on spontaneity of the highest art, its conviction of the sympathetic connections between nature’s organic growth and human creativity and its passion for individual imagination as an originating force,” according to the Poetry Foundation.

I specifically remember our lessons on Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden.” Thoreau’s work is focused on exploration, embracing the unknown and deliberate living.

“Suck the marrow out of life,” Wilson exclaimed, pacing the room. It was like a reenactment of “Dead Poet’s Society.”

Wilson advised us to follow Thoreau’s advice. He explained that as you get older, life becomes pretty routine. He has hit all of the traditional milestones himself: graduating from college, getting married and having kids. Wilson often joked that he could predict exactly what would happen to him every day.

Although graduating from college and embarking on the uncharted path of adulthood is scary, at some point in our lives, possibilities will become limited. There is comfort in knowing that there are so many wonderful opportunities ahead that we aren’t even aware of. I was so afraid to go to college, but it ended up giving me some of the best experiences of my life. Freshman year me couldn’t have predicted that outcome at all.

So, although the unknown is intimidating and will probably even suck at first, embrace it. Growth and discomfort go hand-in-hand.

As Thoreau writes, “Not till we are lost, in other words not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.”