After anticipating my academic return for so long after finishing up my internship on campus, I finally arrived back at Haverford this past Sunday. As expected, many things are different; not only in terms of housing and classes, but also in having different responsibilities. In this week alone, I've made some difficult choices, took on new leadership positions, and even started a second job to make more money. As I begin to hike the path further into the semester, I've noticed some glaring situations that make sophomore year much different from freshman year.

1. You're pretty much on your own. This is considerably a no-brainer, but in freshman year the opportunities to make friends were endless; you had move-in help and orientation programs, special first-year only functions, and the entire campus at your fingertips. Everyone lent an ear to you and was also willing to help you out as a newbie; all the better if you get involved in activities early to make friendships and connections that last throughout your college career. With the advent of sophomore year, these benefits shrink; for example, my current housing lies within the outskirts of campus, and I consequently spend most of my nights alone in my room without floormates to engage with, thinking silently to myself. I've had to force myself to events and places namely because I no longer had upperclassmen helping me along. Now, I know my way around campus as well as the resources available to help me, and I must organize for them.

2. You're constantly competing with your peers. During freshman year, it felt that people were more sympathetic to my mistakes and potential mishaps. I could afford to be less involved in groups and organizations, and I wasn't expected to have responsibility in helping to shape the campus. Now, it's a competition akin to the college admissions process: I have to compete for classroom spots, internships, and other opportunities that come my way. Because I'm a sophomore, I'm supposed to have an idea and grasp of my future that I can't fully hold together. I'm socially required to help freshman out, despite the fact I'm only unique by a couple of months. I need to pretend that I know how to put myself together, or else I risk falling behind the rest of my peers.

3. The freshman class will have a better start than you had. Whenever I find myself engaging with a first-year student, I find myself somewhat regretful for the things I've done and haven't done during my freshman year. There are those who are taking classes that I wish I had taken, who have skills I wish I had, who are already making more friends and connections than I've been making. And then I realize that in time, I will also be competing with them. Of course, it is always good and respectable to help each other out, but at the end of the day we live with ourselves and our actions. The only way past is forward, and I must do what I can to survive.

4. Professors and faculty members are not infallible. I like to think that in my freshman year, I had an idealistic perception of my "superiors"; here were people who had PhDs, were successful in multiple pursuits, had the ability to travel to different areas for conferences, and much more. But ultimately, they can seem as confused and ambiguous as we are; having their own fears, problems, mishaaps. Seeing them more as equals than as authorities lessens this burden, but decreases the aspect of having some sort of "role model" to look up to. I have a more realistic respect for them, although I consistently have to check myself to not put others on a pedestal.

5. College isn't always a great place to be. After the first week, I slowly became acclimated to what turned me off from college in the first place; the excessive partying and drinking, occasional loosening and lack of regard for laws in place, the long, strenuous hours of isolation either from anxiety of homework, and the exhausting from committing yourself to multiple activities a day. I had to remove things to keep my sanity, yet had to add more to increase my marketability. It's a give or take. And especially with all of the controversy regarding college campuses (the role of safe spaces and freedom of speech, campus shootings and gun carrying, the addressing of microaggressions, bureaucracies and office politics), college often doesn't feel right for me. Maybe it shouldn't? I'll be here for two and a half more years before I start into a much broader world. How much time should I focus on a college that likely won't change for me, and how much time should I focus on myself to go in another direction?

Of course, other common things for me to think about include: am I considering the right major? What will I do after college? How should I spend my summer, spend the weekend? What is the best way to study? How do I read, how do I study and retain information effectively? How is my mother doing, my sister, my aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandmother now that grandpa is gone forever? How can I stay sane in a world where pointless, mundane killings are happening daily, where real estate moguls with little political experience can become presidents, where criminals are treated like celebrities and good, honest people are only blips of light in the sea of darkness we call life? Why am I even in college if I may die tomorrow, or next week, or in a month or so?

And yet, after all this thinking, I find myself alone in bed, only thinking about what to do next. Maybe I'll never know. Maybe I'm just destined to keep walking, never finding something to be satisfied with. Maybe there's no such thing as satisfaction. Maybe I'm a digital nomad.