It wasn't until the summer before my senior year in high school that the idea of college became real for me. My best friend had come out to my grandparents cottage on the Connecticut shoreline that summer with my family and before we returned home, we had our first college tours around Boston. At first, none of it seemed real: the oversized tour groups, the dorm room breeze throughs, the tuition. Every school we visited, I loved, and so did my friend. I was convinced that Boston was the place for me, that I wanted—and needed—to be there. I was, after all, born there and spent every summer on its coastline. I always knew I wanted to return to New England for school, and after returning from the college tours, I gloated to my parents and grandparents about how excited I was.
And then, in the fall of that year, reality set in in the form of 841 ugly miles: the distance between my house and the city of Boston. 841 miles between everything I had ever known and everything I had always thought I wanted. 841 miles that would separate me from my friends, pets and most importantly, my parents.
Up until the very moment of filling out and sending in each of my college applications, I had it decided: I was going to attend a school in Boston. But, as I was filling out each application, it became harder and harder for me to hide from the truth of the matter: I couldn't go to school in Boston; that was too far away. My separation anxiety would never allow me to move away like that.
In the back of my mind, I had known it was true. I had been overly attached to my parents since birth. I cried everyday until second grade when I got to school, wanting to go home. Sleepovers, when not at my house, were often out of the question. Summer camp was a no, and any time I was separated from my parents was a no. This had gotten better since the younger days but there was no denying it was still present within me: I simply preferred to be with my parents. Still, whenever the topic of college came up, I was still determined: New England or nothing.
Still, when faced with reality like a college application, I found I was no longer able to hide my inabilities, it was time to face the facts. I still applied to the schools in Boston, but I applied to schools closer to home, too, and had switched my plan to living at home and commuting to a school nearby. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my parents. Not yet.
When the acceptances started to come in, I was excited. It was really happening; I was going to college! I got into the schools around home I had applied to, and was pretty much decided when I got my acceptance letter from Simmons. Suddenly, the idea of going to school in Boston didn't seem so bad. Simmons is a small, tight-knit school with strong academics; what more could I want? In March, when I visited for the first time, I absolutely fell in love. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, the buildings were so pretty, the staff seemed knowledgeable and the class sizes were small like I wanted. It was perfect, everything I wanted in a school. The distance didn't matter, I thought. I decided on Simmons.
At first, I felt nothing but excitement when I thought about my future. I loved Boston and I loved Simmons. To me, it felt so right, perfect even. My friends were surprised that I decided on somewhere so far away but were happy for me nonetheless. My family still in New England were so excited about the Great Return and hoped that I would eventually pull my parents and brother back too. I couldn't wait to get started on my future and I was proud that I had been so bold in my choice.
Summer came and college drew ever closer. I was still excited, but some of that excitement had been covered by anxiousness and worry. In a matter of two months, I would be on my own and living in a new city without my parents and without my friends. I remember thinking more than a couple of times why I decided to be so bold when I could have just stayed home.
My last few weeks before leaving were filled with tearful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch. Letting go of all I had ever known, my comfort zone, was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The hardest goodbye was my parents on move-in day. I tried to keep them around for as long as possible but eventually the time had come for me to start my new life and move on. I'm not going to lie, the first few weeks were the hardest weeks of my life. I cried practically every night when I FaceTimed my parents. I made friends, good ones, but they reminded me of the people back at home: my people. I wanted my pets, my friends, my brother, my parents—I just wanted to be home.
That was before.
Looking back, now done with my first semester, I can see how much I have grown over the last few months. I love it here in Boston, and I'm doing pretty well for myself. I've met some great people and have had wonderful experiences I wouldn't trade for the world. Everyday, I think of home and I sometimes struggle with the fact that I'm not there. I miss my family and friends every single day and I don't think that will ever go away, but I have learned how to manage that sadness and everyday, while still present, I manage to live my life here to the fullest.
I am beyond thankful for the opportunities I have had in the short time I have been in Boston and for the opportunity to even come to a place like this. I have learned how to be more independent and I have become more confident with myself and my abilities through this process. I've also learned that it's okay to be sad and miss someone, because that just shows how much you care and love them. Plus, being far away has forced me to cherish my friends and family so much more and appreciate every second we get with each other, because they're limited.
So, I guess my advice would be to go for it. If you are thinking about taking the plunge and moving far away for college, go for it! I did, and if I have been able to succeed, so can you.
