It’s my dream school, right? All I’ve wanted was to tread the boards of a Broadway stage, to see my name in a Playbill…so attending college in New York City is a massive leap forward, right? Right?
Apparently not.
October dawned, golden and crisp, on Manhattan, and parents' weekend rolled around, but instead of showing my mother the campus and rapidly rehashing every detail of my semester thus far, I spent the weekend alternating between watching football games and fighting back tears.
I wasn’t happy, but it made no sense! I had made it, hadn’t I? Perfect grades, perfect roommate, perfect friends, perfect city—logically, I assumed what I felt was transition anxiety. I mean, I did move 1200 miles from Jackson, Mississippi to NYC, which was essentially a quantum leap into an alternate dimension. Having come to this conclusion, I told myself I would get over it, and my mother left me with a hug, a kiss and an offer to let me transfer if I still felt dissatisfied.
Spring break rolled around and the status quo had evolved: even better grades, a roommate I had come to love even more, friends from which I was inseparable, a voice teacher I worshiped, a sorority I could call home and an ensemble part in a play on campus.
And three feet of snow. I bailed to Florida for the break.
But, alone with my mother, the same complaints I had registered in October punctuated an endless stream of everything is wrong and I am so unhappy, in as many different ways as I could phrase it.
Mom once again extended the olive branch to me: “You can transfer if you want."
I could only offer a noncommittal shrug, an “I don’t know.” I couldn’t process it, the daunting decision that would once again throw my life into turmoil. I applied to thirteen schools the first time (I highly advise against that). Clearly the college application process was stressful enough once already, so why would I subject myself to the anxiety again, and then totally uproot myself? On the other hand, how could I justify spending three more years in an environment that didn’t fit me?
We went to the Magic Kingdom and we watched March Madness; I didn’t seriously think about it again until I returned to college and began researching other schools.
And by research, I mean I made spreadsheets and compiled lists of why or why not I should transfer. I even sought the wise counsel of my unbelievably kindhearted RA. The why won out.
Afterwards, life transformed itself into a circus: In one ring I juggled all of my obligations at my college; in another I ran in circles gathering recommendation letters, sending forms to my prospective schools and to my current school, perfecting essays, emailing counselors and making more spreadsheets; and in another I balanced my sanity while walking a very, very thin tightrope towards the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel.
The light finally appeared on Friday, July 11, when I formally decided to attend Michigan State University. Home to the athletics department I have dutifully cheered for since birth, a killer theatre department and the Beta Gamma chapter of Alpha Omicron Pi, this seems like the right decision, right? Right??
To put it bluntly, I have absolutely no idea what awaits me in East Lansing, who my roommate(s) is/are, and so once more I am entrusting everything to a massive leap of faith.
Life boils down to a series of blind jumps forward, and no matter how well-informed we try to be in decision-making, where we land isn’t always the softest ground or the most welcoming territory. Okay, so your school is not the perfect fit you assumed; so what? The world is not collapsing, nor are you alone: A 2010 article by The New York Times reveals that 1 in 3 college students transfer before graduation. Obviously, we don’t all stick the landing. But, no matter what, we pick ourselves up and leap again.
As John Kander and Fred Ebb summarized in their criminally underrated 1968 musical, "Zorba!," “Life is when you fly and fall."
