If you were to ask me what I expect to see in this new year, this semester, I would probably answer with general answers like "work" or "writing" or, jokingly, "really wanting more sleep!" But, if I were to be perfectly honest with you, after experiencing just one semester of college, a mixed pot of people, strangers, drama, boredom, work, and want of it, I can't be entirely sure of what to expect. Still, whatever is waiting for me, I shall greet it with excitement, curiosity, and apply the knowledge that I have gained thus far.

It really is a strange transition, if you think about it. You're home, after being away for so long, and then, you're back! I'm not sure just what to expect, really; I only hope that the ride is a little less bumpy than in the beginning. Surely, it must be.

I have made friends, many of whom I may not see again for years because of how painfully far away they are from me, returned now to their individual and beautiful countries, yet I still find that every time I enter the dining hall, I see countless faces that I had never come across before. One would think that, by now, I would have seen every face there is to see. But, apparently, this is not true, and in the fall, more new faces shall be joining the throng of deep green Spartans. I shall meet new people every day, and new people means new stories, and new stories mean new experiences.

I have seen just how I fare in a public school system, coming from a home school background. I worked hard every day, and my work payed off in good grades and a sense of pride, pride in what I now know I am capable of and what I will be capable of, going forward. Yet, just what heights I can reach, I do not yet know. I will have to wait and see, and the thought both terrifies and thrills me.

I'll admit that I am nervous about how I will fare in my classes, taking subjects that interest me but that I have not had much experience in studying them, academically. But, what is, fortunately, different about this coming semester is the fact that I have already made wonderful friends who are there to support me when I need it, and who I am honored to support in return. We can work together, receive seemingly random questions about upcoming tests, presentations, or essays. And, most importantly, we do our best to be on panic control, reminding each other just what we are capable of and that, not only is it alright to breathe for a minute, but that when we do have to get back up and face our fears and anxieties, we are more than capable of handling them; "Just look at how far we have already come!" They would say.

And I admit, too, that I still worry about my body; a medical history of fifteen years is nothing to laugh at or take lightly. I worry that something will happen while I am away from home, the place where, if something did happen to go wrong, I knew I could get help from people that I was familiar with; a whole team of doctors becoming family to me, over the years. Still, I am finding that Castleton is my home as well, and that, while it is far away from the home I knew, it is worth staying and calling a second home. The people here are kind, and everyone on the staff does their best to help me, when I need it. Though it will be difficult, I will take each day as I comes, and learn, slowly, to be happy in an unpredictable body; to calm my nerves, and just, live.

I will also learn to take humility and failures in stride, as this is an area that affects both body and mind. I know now what I am capable of, and I know too that failures will come. This should not be an opportunity for disappointment or an excuse to never try again. On the contrary. Failure simply shows me what I'm doing wrong and, more importantly, that I have room to grow. Failure shows that, thankfully, I am not some perfect human who, by some grace of nature, has arrived at college a fully-formed human, perfected in her skill and craft. No, this would be death, the absolute death of an artist. Because, if you cannot grow, you are done. No more new thoughts, no more new practices or new ways in which to place the words on the page. Nothing. Failure, I must remind myself, means that I am not yet done growing. Failure, put simply, means that I am still alive.

I know I will have much to learn, and that makes me feel both excited and humbled. I get to learn, I have the privilege of getting a quality education from people who wish for me to grow, and for that, I could not be more thankful. And, the best way for me to be thankful, I believe, is to give my school my all, and never stop climbing higher, never stop reaching towards who I am to be. And we should all do this, a new semester, a new year, after all, means new opportunities, another chance to go forward while trying, perhaps, a different approach.

I will go back to my school, I will see my friends again and do my best to support them. I will work hard and enjoy my work, my pride coming from my accomplishments. I will grow, as everyone does, and I will learn new ways of loving my Castleton, when I return to the home of the mountain dwelling Spartans.

I'll be home in just a bit, my green castle. Wait for me.