As prepared as I thought I was, I wasn’t. I knew I would miss people and places, but I also knew how deeply I desired to be challenged and to step out of my comfort zone. I’m still not really sure if I took a step or a leap, but I know I am far from comfort. I am actually 1,649 miles from comfort.

I left home feeling strong and confident and sure of who I was. I got here and realized just how little strength I actually have, and how little I really know about myself. I found myself wondering why we have to have dreams so much bigger than our hometowns.

It’s the constant in between. It’s having my head being so invested here. So invested in learning and trying new things and planning out all of the adventures to take over the next four years. Meanwhile, my heart is yearning for home. The comfort of my room. My kitchen. My couch. My city. My people. It’s this battle between head and heart that I wasn’t prepared for. I think I expected my heart to move with my body, that it would be easy to invest myself whole heartedly here, but it’s not. It’s feeling lonely when you’re surrounded by people. It’s being surrounded by people who all have completely different experiences from you, and then all of a sudden you’re all in the same place, living the same life, experiencing the same trials and failures and successes, all with very different perspectives.

No one talked about it. For a really long time, no one talked about it. But now it’s starting to come up. In coffee shops and lunch dates and nights of lying on each other’s floors. Every time it comes up, every time someone says that this is kind of a little bit hard, everyone else agrees. And then that leads into hours of conversation about just how hard this is. This transition. This head and heart thing. And all of a sudden you realize that you’re not alone. That there’s nothing wrong with you. That you do have something in common with all of these different people you’re surrounded by – you’re all feeling just as overwhelmed and lonely and adventurous and excited. But the novelty is beginning to wear off. The butterflies from the first couple of weeks have flown away. Routine is setting in. Friendships are solidifying. And even though we’re supposed to be adjusted by now and the transition is supposed to be over, it’s not.

My week has been a string of conversations of admitting that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay that some nights this is the last place I want to be and then the next morning I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. I’ve figured out that it’s okay, because everyone is feeling the same way. Everyone is feeling just as lost and conflicted as I am.

I am thankful that my true comfort is found in something much more reliable than my emotions and my thoughts. I am thankful for friends who remind me of that and who are embracing the ups and downs of this adventure with me. I am thankful for friends who are holding me from a distance, and friends who are holding me from a few dorms down. I am thankful that I’m not supposed to have anything figured out, and that it’s really not even mine to figure out. I am thankful that it’s okay, to simply admit that sometimes this is hard, and that sometimes I’m not as okay as I would like to think I am.