My freshman experience is extraordinary because it's not at all extraordinary.

I’m from Omaha. Most of the time, when I say that, people tend to crinkle their noses and await further explanation.

I’m from Omaha...that’s in Nebraska. Most of the time, when people hear "Nebraska," they let out a little pained coo, as if I had just fallen and scraped my knee. Now, I fear that people have some horribly misconstrued ideas about Nebraska. It is not, in fact, all that bad of a place (nor is it completely full of gun-toting rednecks).

Omaha is a great place to raise a family. It’s slow-paced with a relatively low crime rate. We’re home to the College World Series and some pretty great steaks. We also have arguably the best zoo in the world, (and anyone who wants to contest that can meet me outside).

But I’ve relocated to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I guess I just can’t turn down an eternal winter. I’m a freshman at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. I currently live off-campus in an apartment of my own just a four minute metro ride away from the heart of the university.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way--not originally. I was supposed to live with my boyfriend. However, about three weeks before our three-year anniversary, plans changed. He decided that he wasn’t prepared to leave his family. We left on good terms. But, I’m not going to lie, I was scared shitless.

I would be moving to a city where I knew basically no one. And I swear that Minneapolis was designed by some intoxicated idiot (I live near the intersection of 4th and 29th). Rent was reasonable, when it had been shared...now, not so much. I hate driving, so I refused to have a car without knowing if getting to and from campus was realistic without one.

I was leaving behind everything and everyone that I had ever known and loved. Yet, this had been the life that I had wanted for myself for as long as I could remember. Every kid who has ever been raised in Nebraska has always wanted to go on an adventure. I knew I would be doing just that.

Two days before the move (last minute as always), I started to pack. My clothes took up the most space, followed by home decor and kitchen necessities. Not to forget the mid-20th-century chair I had proudly reupholstered, which that complemented my dark blue ikat rug. I said my heartfelt goodbyes to friends with the threat of adulthood looming on the horizon.

Both my mom and dad drove me up to Minnesota. I made them stop at Krispy Kreme because, for some reason, the world’s best doughnut could not be found in the great "Up North."

Just like that, we were off. There is a bridge that crosses the impasse of the muddy Missouri River, connecting Nebraska with Iowa, its eastern rival. I snapped a photo of the moment, the last time I would be crossing the bridge as a Nebraskan.

The move went along without any hiccups. The rug looked fantastic alongside the chair and it was the perfect, cozy place for one. I also printed some subtly-gay artwork for above the couch, two black and white photographs. One showed a man horseback riding, the other a group of sailors. The next day, my parents and I went to Ikea and practically bought out the place. I got lamps and blankets and bedsheets and towels--about two carts full.

The day ended at a sports bar out in Roseville. I don’t remember much from that night except that I had a massive club sandwich, my mom cried a few too many times and my dad, once again, reiterated that he thought that this move was the right choice for me.

The night sped on like the blink of an eye. The plan was to get breakfast at around 11 a.m. and then my dad would head out the following morning. We had planned on going to Al’s Breakfast, the quintessential eatery of Dinkytown for the morning meal. It’s built in the space between two buildings. One could easily walk its width in two great strides. Those who have eaten there swear by it, but we gave up at the thought of “standing room only.” Maybe another time.

So we went to Tony’s Diner instead. I got eggs with wheat toast and bacon. We ate outside under a veil of grey and though the day was warm, the breezes were cool. It was getting late and my dad still had to drive back to Omaha once we got back to my apartment.

I ate as slow as I could.

When we got back to my place, my dad headed for the restroom. My mom and I sat on the couch not really sure what to do. I wasn’t ready. I had already said goodbye to my friends back in Omaha, but it was different to say goodbye to the people who raised me.

My dad wasn’t ready either. He came out of the restroom with eyes already red and watery. I hugged him as I bit my lip, failing to fight back tears. He said that he loved me and that he was proud of me. I said I loved him, too.

That hug very well could’ve lasted several minutes. Regardless, it went by too fast. When he left, he glanced up and softly shut the door behind him.

I walked out onto my balcony and I remember that he made sure to stick his hand out the car window, so that I would see him waving goodbye as he rounded the corner and drove out of sight.

Then, it was my mom’s turn, (though thankfully that wouldn’t be for another day or so). After my dad had left, we were once again left dazed on the low leather sofa. The channel was quietly playing Fixer Upper. We weren’t paying much attention, but at a loss for what to say or do. Then, that damn Nestlé commercial came on--the one that starts by panning over a son reading over his college acceptance letter.

The camera then focuses on photos of him and his mom. In one of them, the pair is making chocolate chip cookies. Taking a trip down memory lane, the boy in the commercial whips up a fresh batch. When his mom arrives home from work, she sees the cookies on the kitchen island beside the acceptance letter with a note saying ‘Mom, we did it!’ By that time, my mom and I were both blubbering messes.

We then went to the only place to go after minor meltdowns: Target. When living on your own, there are so many items that you don’t think about that you totally need. Like a paper towel holder. Or a butter dish. Or a Tide-To-Go stick. Everyone needs one of those, let's be real.

We ate dinner at the Loring Pasta Bar, an "Alice in Wonderland-esque" restaurant located in an old pharmacy, the upper-half of which used to be the apartment of a small-time musician by the name of Bob Dylan. My dad swears that he is my namesake. My mom swears at him for saying so. They had a live salsa band playing. Couples rejuvenated by overpriced liquors danced on the checkerboard floor, a menagerie of swirling colors and dimensions. The waitress snapped our photo at the end of the meal.

The next day proceeded quickly. Last-minute necessities were procured. I found a roommate, a blazing blue betta fish named Lenny (short for Leonard). He doesn’t really put in a fair share of the chore work but, hey, he doesn’t talk back.

As a sort of parting gift, I gave my mom a copy of the photo that was taken the night before. She cried and I cried and we hugged. I told her to be sure to wave goodbye as she drove off. Once again, I walked onto my balcony, wadded up tissues gripped tightly in my hand. My mom kept her promise. She rounded the corner and was gone.

I was left alone and felt alone. Something I thought would be difficult in a city of 4 million people.

Loneliness does suck for a while.

It sucks not knowing anyone or where to go. But time made things better. Since my parents drove away from my apartment and, since starting school, I’ve met people I'm lucky enough to call friends. There are people who share interests and political ideologies with me. As a freshman, I had gotten an internship at a national online publication before the first full week of school was even over.

I know that it’s hard and it’s scary going at it alone. I miss my friends and family and ex-boyfriend so much. It breaks my heart to not see my niece and nephew on a near-weekly basis, knowing that each consecutive time I see them, they will have grown into perfect, yet hardly recognizable, little humans. I miss my dad driving me to work every Saturday. I miss my mom kissing me on the forehead each night. I miss not falling asleep alone.

But, I am proud of myself for embracing the hardship. I am proud that, when going away to college, I did actually go away. I know that--in the end--the struggles will translate into strength. Even in several short weeks, I’ve grown and matured. I do all my own laundry. I clean, even when I don’t want to. I have also learned just how much I hate cleaning. If there’s a problem, I either ask for help or figure out a way to make it work. Giving up when there’s no evident solution just isn’t an option when you’re on your own.

I feel like every student, once in awhile, questions whether or not they made the right choice. I could’ve played it safe and gone to University of Nebraska - Lincoln, the school where the majority of students from my high school attend. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t envy being a 45-minute drive from my loved ones. But this was a high-risk venture. And so far, I’ve found it to be high-reward.

As for right now, I am sitting on my balcony sipping warm Earl Grey tea. I have a cheap bistro set (my neighbors put office chairs on their balcony) and three planters, filled with what will hopefully be strong, healthy tulips in the spring. I look out upon the Minneapolis skyline as the sun sets and the sky fades from a baby blue to a pale white, to an Easter yellow, soft lavender and eventual mauve. I know that I can only hold on to what I know to be true.

I know that I have an adorable fish that wiggles its fins whenever I walk in the door. I know that I have a killer ikat rug and subtly homosexual artwork. I know that I have a home--one that I designed and curated and crafted all on my own, filled with beloved photographs and prized mementos, nestled in this frigid tundra. And that is enough to keep me warm.