I come from a large and very close extended family. My cousins were my first friends, and I spent every weekend with them at my grandmother's house or at the houses of one of my aunts. Think of the family in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," and just make them Italian, and Bingo! That's my family. My parents were always working for most of my child life so my brother and I spent nearly every afternoon by my Grandma, or "Nonna's" house. My grandfather (Noonoo) worked very hard supporting the family business, and has officially retired at the ripe old age of 84. Basically, I spent all of my time with my grandparents and cousins growing up, so I had no real desire to make friends at school and to establish myself elsewhere.
It wasn't until high school that I had begun dating people and making new friends, joining sports and choir, etc. However, despite my newfound accomplishments, I was the same as I ever was: extremely shy and slightly judgmental of other people. When I dated people, my family always took precedence; we always had to spend Christmas with my family or else I would spend the holiday in a depressed mood. To this day I still am anxious to spend as much time as possible with them whenever I come home for breaks, and I have some serious FOMO about missing family parties.
When college decisions were in the air, I, like everyone else, had a gut-wrenching choice to make. My grandparents were older, my brother commuted to school in Chicago, and my family was anxious about how far I would go. Living in a suburb of Chicago where my extended family has two local businesses had always been a comfort to me. Wherever I went, someone knew somebody else who knew somebody I knew. Why would I want to leave Chicago? My grandfather would constantly remind me,
"What will you do if you don't go to a Chicago school? Nowhere else has the opportunities you'll get in Chicago."
As much as I love my Noonoo, staying in Chicago was never really my intention, despite how heartbreaking I knew the separation would be. Throughout high school I had concocted an idea of the places I wanted to go and the subjects I wanted to study, as most of us do. When I stumbled upon St. Olaf's website (Thanks to my AP US History teacher) I knew had found my dream school. I had dreamt for two years of the campus, which I'd only seen in pictures, and its limestone and castle-like buildings. I had an extraordinarily romantic view of the place I now call my second home.
Little did I know, adjusting and surmounting personal difficulties would almost drive me to drop out. Eight hours and forty minutes from home proved to be an unrelenting obstacle to me. Frequent panic attacks punctuated my daily life between classes, choir practice, work and rugby practice my freshman year. I was sick for home and I doubted everything about myself that I had felt was so admirable in high school. But I met people who changed my life forever, and I would venture to say that they honestly saved my life.
Coming into college, everything was about me: my high school success, my stuff, my looks. I was desperate to feel intelligent and at least pretty or interesting. I was so self-absorbed that I couldn't solidify any friendships until second semester. I was miserable. All of my success from high school was at least measurable: I had awards, medals, certificates, and a varsity letter. In college I felt that I had nothing except for a newspaper clipping saying I was on the dean's list.
When I began to make close friends, I realized that not everything was about me. I stopped wearing makeup (just a personal choice, not good/bad), I got a job I actually found rewarding, and I started to realize what I did and didn't want to be a part of.
It wasn't until the summer after Freshman year that life hit me hard. The confidence I found was shattered, and I felt like I was living half a life. My Nonna died on June 1, and I began pouring myself into my job at home. I worked everyday, swallowing pangs of guilt, regretting that I had ever left home and lost so much time with her before she died. Nineteen years was not enough to console me. I watched my family suffer, grieve, fight, and try to repair the damage of hurt feelings. I was desperate to go back to school, desperate to focus on work and going to class. That was so much easier than thinking and remembering everything about my Nonna every waking moment. I dreamt about her, relived what it was like to watch her go. I felt too selfish to support anyone's grief but my own.
After a summer of emotional upset, I was craving to be separated from my family a little more. I just wanted to focus on what little things I could do to give my life any kind of meaning. I bought a car, got a better job at school, and became more independent than I'd ever been. I spent the year proving to myself that I could do it alone, but as usual, I couldn't. Instead, I achieved something much more rewarding: I had found a family at St. Olaf. I was lucky enough to bond with some of the most intelligent and caring people I have ever known, and in a lot of ways, it has reconciled me to the family I have at home in Chicago.
By going away to school and distancing myself from everything and everyone at home, I was able to focus on my own ambition and dreams, but also to support my friends in their education as well. I learned how to take care of people when there are not many "adults" around to dictate things, like at home. I had to find my own answers. Being far from my family forced me to stand on my own, instead of falling back into the shadows of my comfort zone. Now, I am thankful to my family at school and at home for being two communities which I draw my personal strength from.
