When I was three years old and in preschool, I decided that it was time for recess, and I led four of my classmates out to the playground. I vividly remember being seven years old on the subway in New York City with my family, looking at this girl sitting alone on the train. She must have been about 12 or 13. I wanted so desperately to be her, to be able to ride on public transportation without supervision. It was so simple, yet such a thrilling idea. When I was 16, I went and got a job so I could have money of my own, learn better time management, and have another thing to put on my resume -- all while my parents were actually telling me not to because they were afraid my grades would fall.
I've always been the kid who couldn't wait to get out of the house and live on her own. All I ever wanted was to have independence, whether it be financial, physical, or emotional. I romanticized the idea of living on my own, of traveling hours to see my family, and of getting a job to support myself.
But now, I'm in college. I miss my mom, and I would kill to be able to drive just a couple of minutes to see my dogs. All I want to tell my 15-year old self is to hang on to every moment you have at home because even though a lot of college is super fun, it actually will be hard, and you will want to crawl into your bed and cry because you can't crawl into your mom's bed to watch "Gilmore Girls" with her.
In high school, I felt like a balloon filled with stress, feeling confined to one little town that I had been in my whole life, waiting for the perfect moment to burst, in which there would be words I would regret said to my family or friends. I felt like my only option was to go more than just two and a half hours away for school and, honestly, that was one of the best decisions I have ever made. But I wish I had realized just how different my life would become once I left home -- that it wouldn't be the perfect journey I daydreamed about in AP Calc.
The truth is, it hasn't always been easy. It was hard to find people like me. It was hard to find things to get involved with. It was hard to not be able to just drive home on the weekend for a home-cooked meal at the drop of a hat, while watching my hall-mates do it all the time. Honestly, it sucked. For my first semester, all I wanted was to yell at the me who was applying for colleges to really, really think about whether this is what I wanted.
Of course, I have grown out of that, and I don't think I would go back to change my choice. But I do have to keep reminding myself that this is what I wanted, and even though I am (just a little bit) older and (just a little bit) wiser, I do want to honor the seven year old in me, who couldn't wait to make my own life, one solo bus ride at a time.
