In April of 2015, I submitted a deposit to a school I thought I loved, a place where I thought I would be spending the next four years of my life. An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders, because finally, I had an answer when people asked me where I would be attending school. I could tell them my school and my major, and a few short weeks later, I could tell them the name of my future roommate. At the beginning of July, I could list off my class schedule. I knew what clubs I wanted to join, what dorm I would be living in and where my future was taking me. I thought I'd successfully made one of the most important decisions of my life, and I couldn't wait to finally get started.
But life has a funny way of messing with us. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but the moment I stepped on campus in late August and began settling in, something didn't feel quite right. I attributed it to nerves, figuring it was simply a result of missing my family, my friends and familiarity. I dismissed it as jitters and tried my best not to think about it, but as time went on, the feeling never went away. I found myself insisting in every phone call I made to my parents that I'd made the right decision and telling all of my friends how much I loved certain things about my school. I loved the chocolate chip cookies in the dining hall, for example, and I loved how beautiful my campus was in the fall. Not once did I wake up and think to myself "God I love this school."
It wasn't until late October that I started to think about transferring. I didn't tell anyone, because every time I heard that someone transferred schools back at home, it was met with a chorus of "that's terrible" and "oh, that's too bad." There was a stigma, and I was deathly afraid of becoming the Transfer Student.
Then, on Nov. 11, I made a decision that altered the course of my life. I went on Google and started searching for colleges again, and I called my parents to tell them that I wanted to transfer. I'd finally had enough of my former institution. I'd come to terms with the fact that I'd chosen the wrong school, and that I would be better off somewhere else. Although it's still somewhat terrifying to look back on it and think about the fact that I screwed up one of the most important decisions of my life, I have comfort in knowing that from that bad decision came the best thing that ever happened to me.
In January 2016, after one semester at Ithaca College, I transferred to Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio, and as cheesy and cliche as it sounds, Xavier has been my home since the very first day I moved in. I have incredible friends who are both talented and loving, phenomenal professors and (in my very biased opinion) is one of the most beautiful campuses in the country. At Xavier, I met some of the greatest people I've ever known, rediscovered my faith and became a part of some amazing student organizations. There are so many things I love about my school, and I have never felt more at home.
So, even though it took me a few tries to get there, I'm grateful to be at a school where I can be myself and still feel at home. That's why when people ask me if I regret having to transfer, my answer will always be no, and why I encourage anyone thinking about transferring to truly look into it. Sure, the process isn't the greatest, but I can promise that the result is so incredibly worth it.
I am Laura McDiarmid. I am a transfer student. I am a Xavier Musketeer. And I am home.
