As my mother drove me down to Valdosta for the very first time I found myself in tears. My mother, who moonlights as my best friend, turned to me, seemingly unsympathetic. She drove in silence as she watched emotional droplets cascade uncontrollably down my bright brown face. Once I was finally able to gather myself, she simply asked me if I felt better. She listened intently as I told her about the overwhelming sense of panic I had only recently begin to feel. "How am I going to do this all on my own, Mama? I want to go home. I think I changed my mind. Are people going to want to be my friend? What if I don't like my roommate? What if I fail?" Her answer shocked the sense back into me. "It doesn't matter. You are strong and you can do anything you put your mind to. You will be fine."

Now here I am 3 years later, finding her then-confounding answer manifesting itself in more ways than I could have ever expected. I am fine. My roommates loved me, more or less. I have never failed a class and aside from one semester I have maintained a 3.0 GPA. I have begun to wonder why I was ever worried in the first place.

I, once upon a time, consided twenty-one to be the age of an adult. I, now being twenty-one, am able to acknowledge just how incredibly arrogant it was to assume that maturity comes at a definite age. The only assumption I make now is that children are the one true enforcers of maturity in your early twentys. Having every one of my social networks flooded with pictures of newborns and engagement anouncements; I can't help but wonder if I'm lagging behind. I'm over here just trying to make sure that I eat more than once a day and make it to class on time. How could any one my age possibly be ready to take care of themselves and a child and go to school and/or work at the same time? They are blowing my mind. But they are making it, using their children as motivation and a source of strength.

I am thankful for these "lost" years. These years have told me everything I need to know about myself. I have seen myself under extreme stress, with no money, with more money than I have ever had free reign over, after the freshman 15, during Spring Break, fed up with financial aid, 2 points away from an A, 4 points above a D and in conditions with psychotic roommates. It may not be "it all", but I am definitely the sum of my experiences. My psychology classes have helped me better understand and accept not only myself, but others. My philosophy classes have made me aware of different cultures and social norms that we have allowed ourselves to maintain. My English classes have forced me to find the voice I once lost to emotional trauma. My math classes forced me to learn to that while Mathematics looks impressive on a resume, it is definitely not the major for me. And I am thankful for each of these various lessons.

College has been a vessel of knowledge gathering. I am responsible for every decsion I make. I have no one to catch me when I fall. I must call actual working people myself when I need something done. I have a future to think about, you know, to rationalize the last 3 years of emotional torture and the thousands of dollars of debt I have aquired. I may not be fully equiped, but I finally think I'm ready. Not ready for children or a desk job or typical adult activities, but confident that I have the ability to be happy and support myself while doing so. So thanks college. Without you I have no idea where I'd be or which direction I'd be going. Thanks for forcing me to see my potential. Thank you for forcing me to love myself. Thank you for allowing me to find myself. And thanks for all the debt.