.: June 2015

It didn’t surprise me that I cried when I was saying my final goodbye to my mom as she dropped me off at Clemson for my first year. I cried when she left, but that was it. Unlike some of the kids that begged their families to hang around until the last possible minute, the kids who cried themselves to sleep for days, the kids who dreaded being on their own, I was ready for college. Sure, I’d miss my mom, but I was ready. I attribute this to a long life of being an “army brat” where I had no option but to get used to moving, leaving family, losing friends, starting new. I was ready for college, to be on my own, to answer to no one but myself, to make those friends that are supposed to last a lifetime, and I was ready for the best fours years of my life to begin. After all, wasn’t that what everyone had said they would have been?

Well, they are wrong.

My freshman year began in Young hall, on the third floor, in the Women in Animal and Veterinary Sciences living learning community—A floor of 30ish girls, most of which aspiring to become veterinarians. It was a time of floor meetings, awkward roommate introductions, halls filled to the brim with boxes and family members, paralyzing confusion—really, just total chaos. So much so, that as we, the residents of Young third floor, reflected on our past year, none of us could remember the first two weeks of our freshmen year.

Then every possible event/function/ gathering on campus happened—Back to school bashes, Ag barbeques, tiger prowl. And so, college life began. There was no curfew; you went where you wanted, when you pleased, and you were free to do you, when you wanted, and how you wanted.

And simultaneously, real college began, because that’s when classes did.

I personally didn’t find college classes much more difficult than high school classes, and I quickly got the hang of it after being one of those awkward freshmen who walked around campus the day before classes even started to find where they would be, and the freshman who showed up to class ten minutes before it started, unlike the sophomores who appeared with 30 seconds to spare, or the freshman that was ahead on my school work—which only lasted a week until I joined the rest of the student body as they casually suffocated in a heap of notes and homework assignments.

I even joined some clubs, well… okay, I joined every agriculture and animal related club there was to join, but who’s counting? I joined mainly for the resume builder, but was genuinely interested in the dairy science club because I would get to show dairy cows (and if you don’t know me or know how that club worked out for me, then you might just want to take a peek at my facebook profile or instagram, because one small peek and you’ll get it right away.)

But was college really going to be the best four years of my life?

I didn’t quite realize how wrong everyone was until my second semester of my freshman year. My first semester was great. I had a great roommate who was my best friend—we rocked life together—and a made so many more friends from my WAVS hall and dairy club. I was rocking my schoolwork, even while dying in biology with Turnbull. I fell in love with cows, and naturally, the one with the biggest attitude! I volunteered twice a week at Clemson’s equine center and in doing so, continued to add to my animal experience hours that I needed for vet school. I laughed in the freshman fifteen’s face and made four plate dinners a regular thing, and my friends and I entered the nightlife scene of Clemson by reeking havoc on flying discs and the poor workers who set out the signs for the tailgating spots. I’d say successful if you were to ask me.

But for any normal person, my second semester would have been the space between two WWI trenches where there was a 99.9974673486% percent change you would not even make it half way to the other side alive (Courtesy to Saunders and History 1730—the bane of my existence). I was almost taking the max amount of credit hours you could take, with four labs, and all of my lectures requiring roughly 29 hours of studying a day. Yes, that does not quite work out well. As I struggled in class, I also struggled to sleep. I set a hall record for fewest hours slept in a week and the most all nighters pulled in a week—approaching four. I ended up being so tired that my hall mates were ordering me to sleep and by the time my dairy show came around, I fell asleep sitting against a support beam and slept so soundly that I was completely undisturbed as my classmates loaded two trailers of cows right in front of me. And the icing on the cake, my relationships with my friends went south for the winter and checked into hotel “Judging You Hard Suites.”

And this was supposed to be one of the best years of my life?

Well it was, and Ironically, I enjoyed my second semester more than the first. And it was in my second semester that I learned the truth to the cliché “college is the best four years of your life.”

So here’s the truth.

I buckled down, became best friends with the second floor of ole Cooper (the library), found myself a good study buddy, and did my best to get my school work back in order. An agenda became a thing, as did micromanaging, considering I had most days planned down to the half hour. I set goals in my head, and I did my best to reach them.

Sleep needed to be a thing, but lets be real, that wasn’t happening, so I became acquainted with coffee, courtesy of Cooper study buddy, and in turn became addicted, leaving me with an empty wallet, and still no sleep. But hey, at least I got that last assignment done right?

My friendships said bye, and while they were enjoying their stay, mingling in their lousy lives that lacked a Bailey, I took it upon myself to find the good in the situation. I too checked out, and into hotel “Life Together Resort and Spa.” I used the time away from my friends and devoted it to my studies. Instead of going home where they would be, I would hang out with Cooper and worked on my schoolwork. And instead of pouting because my friendships weren’t functioning like friendships, I went and made new friends, great ones, and a ton of them. And on top of that, I focused on strengthening the friendships I had that were a stretch to even be titled a friendship.

So what did I learn the truth was?

College is everything you make it.

College can be the best four years of your life… or it can be the worst. These four years can be just “ehhh," or you could finish feeling indifferent about them.

But college is what you make it.

You decide how it will impact you, how it will pan out in the end, how it will effect you, how you react to what college throws your way, how you handle the struggle. You decide what kind of experience you have. You decide what your attitude will be while struggling though the hells of higher education. You determine if college will be the best four years of your life.

I didn’t let college beat me. I said “ha, joke’s on you, I’m going to make a damn good grade in all my classes, no matter what it takes.” And that’s what I did. I finished strong, and I finished proud.

I didn’t let my social life drag me down to the depths of the ocean where I would drown. Here I learned a very valuable lesson—keeping an open mind. I learned to keep an open mind in relationships. Not everyone will act as you would, but that allows you no room for judgment. I learned that an open mind when meeting anyone will almost always lead to a really awesome friend. I learned the value of a friend too. A friend, that’s something hard to be. A friend does not judge, a friend does not lie, a friend is not rude, a friend does not dismiss, and a friend does not alienate, but a friend does listen, a friend does tells the truth, a friend acts with grace, a friend accepts, and a friend includes with open arms. Most importantly, I learned that friendships are not easy, and they require a lot of work and effort, a lot of give and take, a lot of compromise.

When people ask me how my freshmen year went, only a few words can even explain the experience—“Glamorous,” “Too much fun.”

I cried when my mom left, but I bawled when my friends left after our last final. You’d think I would have found moving easy peasy, leamon squeezy. Yanno, considering I have moved over twenty times, but I put off packing until the last possible moment (and ironically pulled an all nighter to finish that too), and when I finally had to say goodbye to the third floor of Young hall, I was the last one left. I did not want to leave and am confident I took moving out harder than anyone. I checked out of my home, said goodbye to Erin, my RA, and my barren dorm room, 303, where I would swear I had just moved into the day before. I even drove around campus three times before actually getting on the highway. And finally, I left. But I left it a success.

And if you were to ask me if I think college will end up being the four greatest years of my life, I’m most likely going to say “they will be better than that.”

So to the newest high school graduates, who are itching to stand where I have now stood, remember, the best four years don’t just happen…

College is what you make it