Leaving for college is such a love-hate relationship. On one hand you’re like, “Get me out of here! I can’t take this place anymore! I’m ready for my next adventure!” But on the other hand you’re saying to yourself, “Wait! What do you mean I have to leave, and be on my own, and be without my mom? I’m not ready. Please don’t make me go”.
When I was heading for college my freshmen year, I had spent the entire summer working at my local theater. I had only taken two weeks off, one to participate in a sleep away camp (my first, I might add), and the other was the week before I left for Santa Barbara. However, it was a decision of how I would spend that final week. I had the option of using it to have one last hurrah with my friends, saying my final goodbyes, and celebrating my birthday with my family. The other option was moving to Trop, my home for the next year, a week early to settle in, get to know people who would be my friends, and get myself acquainted with beautiful Santa Barbara. I opted to stay home to say my farewells.
At the time it seemed like the better choice. Shortly after arriving to college, however, I realized I had chosen poorly.