I was sitting behind a table at Ithaca College’s A&E Center looking at the dozens of tables spread across the track. On the far side of the room hundreds of students and parents were rising and making their way through to banquet tables lined with cupcakes, fruit, chicken, and salad. Amidst the shuffling students and the distant murmurs that filled the whole room, I was struck by a sense of déjà vu. But, I was on the wrong side of things.

Why was I sitting here behind this table? The answer may seem obvious. I was promoting the running club. I was offering students the opportunity to continue their running careers without quite the intensity of a collegiate sport. It was still nagging me though. Why was I there?

How did I get there? I thought I was one of the students milling about. I should have been full of curiosity and checking out table after table. I wanted to know what types of organizations Ithaca College had to offer, did I not? Who was I to sit behind this table confidently? Should I not have been shy or timid, knowing that I lacked any sort of experience?

Yet, there I was talking to students barely a year younger than I am. I watched them eagerly take in the spiel for the running club. They asked questions like, “Do you compete? How often do you run? Does Ithaca have good trails?” and I answered. What authority did I have? And how could I answer them, when not too long ago, that was me?

I read the labels on their shirt. I checked my shirt to look for my own, but I did not have one. I was still on the wrong side of the table. I see people go by wearing their hometown proudly on that label. It was right underneath their name. I saw so many wearing hometowns in New York, but also so many from Pennsylvania. And I was homesick. They would go home the next day and talk excitedly about that far-away place – Ithaca. It was still foreign to them.

I realized from this side of the table everything looked different. It was no longer foreign as it had been for me when I was there one year ago. It was familiar. This scene especially. I watched it play out from an entirely different angle. And I knew what they did not. I knew what the track looked like when it was not littered with chairs. It was so weird, being in this state of knowing and still remembering that initial state of not knowing.

As I walked back to Lyon Hall, my dorm building, I could feel the excitement buzzing in the air. It was a cloudy day in Ithaca – typical. Yet, it was not your normal cloudy day. Signs directed the accepted students to the important places, like the A&E Center I had just left. How odd it was that I no longer needed those signs. How was it that I was not lost like these students? They would return to a motel or even get in their car and head home that night. I was walking toward my home that moment – my home at Ithaca that is.

My home that day was a destination. It was on the map that students held in their hand or on their phone. My home was on the schedule. A few hours later, I walked into the study lounge. And again, that buzzing excitement was tangible. If I had just reached out my hand, maybe I could have captured some of it for myself. I was struck by some horrible sense of déjà vu. A table with two plates of cannolis beckoned me. I mean who can turn down a good cannoli?

That is exactly what I said a year ago, when I walked into almost the same scene. But these students were walking in here for the first time. I was in here for the hundredth time. Of the faces on the wall proudly displaying what it was like to be an Ithaca College Honors student, I could pick out my own. I was an Ithaca College student. I am. Some of these students would be too.

But that is what made us different. They were still in a state of transition. Was I no longer in a state of transition? I stumbled over my words as I led them through the dorm, my dorm. Some of them would be living there next year. It was surreal because I was the one who was supposed to be asking questions. Why was I leading the tour? Why was I answering their questions? When did I learn the answers?

Everything was new to them. I remembered when it had been new for me. But now, the kitchen I walked into was yet another familiar place. Just the night before, I had enjoyed a pasta dinner with some of my closest friends. As I tried to promote the kitchen and Lyon Hall, I mentioned how much fun I had had the night before. As I walked along the tour I did not see that coming. How did I find a such a great group of people? Was my story one that would make students want to come here? Could I be talking to the people that would inhabit this kitchen next year?

Somewhere along the line things stopped being new. Somewhere, I am not sure where, I transformed from one of those students looking all around – and maybe getting a little lost – to the tour guide. I moved to the other side of the table. I was answering questions, not asking them.

I am different, but I really cannot see how I have changed. It really does feel like I should still be wandering around lost and curious. However, now I know exactly where I am.