Ted Mosby interacted with his wife a million, nine-seasons worth of times before he actually met his wife, and, ignoring that shows absolute shit ending, I feel like that’s how you meet your truest friends in college. You run in the same crowd, you hang out on weekends, but there’re usually a million yellow umbrella moments and Starbucks runs before a singular moment flips the switch. For my college experience, it came at a time when I especially needed people to turn on the light.
When I decided to leave Gettysburg College, I was acutely aware of the academic risk I was taking. I couldn’t guarantee another school would want me, would look at my application and have faith that I could be successful there. What if I didn’t graduate on time; what if my credits didn’t transfer. I sat through hours of meetings with advisors, with Res Life, with deans and professors who all told me with no uncertainty that I was about to royally fuck up my future. All I knew, with absolute certainty, was that I wasn’t happy, and I couldn’t bring myself to stay there any longer. And while I’d discussed leaving with my dad and friends from high school, it felt impossible to explain to my friends at school. I’d known them only for six months; they didn’t know what had happened in the prior year; how could they understand? And it turns out I was right, for the most part anyway: they didn’t. They referenced movies, TV shows, their best friend’s cousin, who had it a lot harder and pushed through. And even if their stories were accredited, to me they lost all validation when they looked me in the eyes, saw my sadness, and told me I was giving up. That I was making a mistake. That I was quitting. Because I wasn’t: I was drowning. I had been all year, and now I was just trying to claw my way onto a lifeboat. I would’ve pushed Leo off that floating door in a heartbeat if it meant just a solid night of sleep. I was touched that they were that sad to see me go, but I’d never felt more alone. More different. Everyone I talked to seemed dumbfounded at the thought that I could want to be anywhere besides Servo on a Monday morning or in a frat’s basement on a Saturday night.
Then Leah knocked on my door.
She sat on my bare mattress and watched me pack, before taking a long breath and confessing “I hate it here too. You do what you have to do.” She got it. That was the first time anyone validated my feelings, or that someone had even tried to put themselves in my shoes. And just like that, I realized the yellow umbrella moments: her holding my hand as I got my mom’s tattoo; her rubbing my back one night when we were drunk and I was inexplicably crying, and never mentioning a word about it the next day; that when I confessed my mom had passed five months prior, she asked “well tell me about her; what she was like?” instead of the default “I’m so sorry/let’s change the subject”.
Fast forward three days later: I’m moving back into my house and I get a text from Anna. At this point, word had spread across the small campus and my even smaller hometown, and I was getting all sorts of texts; “we’re really worried you’re going down a wrong path” was a common theme, and I had a palpable feeling that I was irreversibly fucking up my future. But Anna, who’d done my makeup and made me a semester’s worth of margaritas, simply said “I respect the shit out of you. I’ll defend your decision to anyone who asks. Do what you need to do to be happy”. And just like that, Anna stole the blue French horn and flipped off that snotty waiter at the restaurant.
It’s been nearly three years since these moments; we’ll all graduate in May from three different schools, wearing three different colored caps and gowns, after studying abroad on three different continents. And even though we text constantly and try our best to get together as much as possible, we miss a lot; birthdays, break ups, hookups, firsts and lasts and “Oh Jesus what the fuck did I just do”. But through it all, through everything, they’re my day ones. Whenever something happens, whenever I fuck up, they’re the first to yell “FUCK THAT”, and with good news “FUCK YES”. And that’s what flipped the switch. That’s why they’re true blue: no matter what, we will always be in eachother’s corner, rooting for the other person’s happiness. Even if we’re the only voices in that damn arena.
