The past week social media has been filled with moms and dads hugging their grown-up kids in front of dorm rooms, and quick photos taken through tears as young college hopefuls drive away from the family home. The excitement of unloading bags from Homesense with new bedding or a fun lamp, putting together a desk chair from Ikea, lugging another heavy box up four flights of stairs. Trying to balance all the strange feelings: lighthearted excitement, roommate curiosity, dread of the drive home, apprehension, sadness, an aching heart, a racing mind. The crushing loneliness of walking back into the house to face their empty bedroom, or that final trip to the car when there is nothing left to do but say goodbye.
I’ve been there, in both roles.
I was 17 and my whole family drove me to Bible College in Langley, British Columbia, a thousand miles from home. I’m so grateful they did, though I’m sure it was a long, tough trip. I felt very ready to make the change, but too young to realize how these forks in the road shift the trajectory of a life. I was far too young to know that those last waves goodbye from my third story window to the brown-and-tan fifteen-passenger van below were marking the bittersweet end of the most important chapter. That the months and then years would change my siblings into older, different versions of the brothers and sisters I knew. My youngest brother, my whole heart and soul, would grow up largely without me. I wonder, if I knew then what I know now, would I have still gone through with it?
“How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
—Winnie the Pooh
Experiences and new information change people. In the bustling, multi-ethnic city I learned different ways of viewing the world. My perspective was not the only valid one. My first roommate was a “city girl” from Richmond, who had only known a city life. She was wide-eyed at my cowgirl boots and Wrangler jeans, my fresh-faced optimism, and my Alberta flag. I was used to square meals and lots of exercise, and struggled with the pasty, fatty food in the cafeteria and sitting, always sitting. I went jogging in the Back 40, which is what they called the trails behind Trinity Western University. I became accustomed to train whistles in the night and the sound of the highway. Groups of students would pile into someone’s ancient car and drive into Langley to share appetizers at Red Robin, or try those fancy new coffees at Castle Bay. What were they called again? We wanted to order a cappuccino, but, nervous about the pronunciation, would only get as far as ‘Americano’ or ‘Espresso’. Strong black coffee in little tiny cups! Or frothy, foamy goodness with a shot of hazelnut syrup! This was living. Soon, we could order a latte like we’d been doing it all our lives. Funny thing was, I had never watched an episode of Friends. It wasn’t even on the air yet.
I’m realizing that each part of this blog could be a separate post. There’s too much history and far too many stories! Remember the Tesseract in Interstellar? It’s like that. Racing past multitudes, pausing to see if I recognize anything, or anything recognizes me.
I went to Northwest Baptist Theological College (which doesn’t exist anymore) for one year, my eye on university. I didn’t appreciate college enough. It was a waiting room for the next thing, and though it was a rich and growing experience, I wish I had taken time to make friends that would have probably lasted a lifetime, but I was too quick to move on, always looking ahead and not enjoying the room I was in. Those were good people. If any of you read this, you were golden – I know it now.
The cup overflows; there is too much. I need to spend time and remember the details, write it down for another day.
“When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.”
—Winnie the Pooh
Suffice to say that the opportunity to go to college was to me a shining key, and I wanted to unlock every door. I was able to open a few and for that I’m grateful. Every young woman deserves the chance to get a post-secondary education, and those who really care about her will do whatever they can to make that happen. Some dreams need to be experienced before the fog of everyday life, of marriage, kids, a mortgage and a minivan roll in. Those things are wonderful, too, and I would say much better – but oh, let her go and become, because the weight of the world for women is heavy, and she might never find her wings again. Yes, the wings can get singed and there are stumbles and free-falls and it doesn’t always work out like you hope, but I’m glad I was able to go. No one can take those years away. The memories are stained with homesickness, loneliness and hard times but they are still beautiful to me.
Girls, go to college if there is any way you can, or at least be on your own for awhile. If a window of opportunity opens, go through it. It might not be perfect, but it will be all YOU.
If I could do it again, I would be present; I would marvel in every moment. I would ask every question, get to know all the fascinating people, take more pictures, show up to every class, pester my professors, stay late, arrive early. But I did my best with what I knew at the time, and that’s more than good enough.
This one’s for the girls, going off to college. I’m cheering for you.
Stories for Humans 