Ever since we’re old enough to realize that one must grow up, we begin to dream about our futures. We make big plans and wish on stars that one day we’ll be the Prom Queen, get into the best college, meet prince charming, be the first woman president, and the list goes on. Unfortunately, as years pass by we come to terms with putting our dreams on a shelf. This type of shelf that hangs in the back of our minds, the kind we take out and admire whenever we’re feeling as if life isn’t going the way we had planned. We remember what we once dreamed about, and laugh as if we were naive to think that THAT, whatever THAT consisted of, could actually of happened in our life. Nonetheless the world spins on, forcing us to see the truth, or shall I say what society has deemed to be true… that sometimes expectations don’t meet with reality. Sometimes the only way not to be let down is to have no expectations at all.
I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t like you. That I always listened to my mom when she would say, “Prepare for the worst, and anything better will be a nice surprise.” but the truth is, I was always the one with the big dreams. The optimistic kind that believed anyone could make their lives turn out like a John Hughes film. The one thing I’ve caught onto is the fact that each birthday a little chip of that optimism is no longer in my reflection when I look in the mirror. Somewhere between the ages of ten and twenty, it started playing a game of hide-n-seek, and I’ve still yet to find where it went. My best guess is that it’s somewhere out in the midst of the big city I moved to, rolling down the 405 jammed in Los Angeles at rush hour. Sometimes I see it when I look at the Hollywood sign, or hear it when I listen to Tom Petty singing, “American Girl” but ever so fast, it’s fleeing these days. Here for a second then gone.
I can’t blame anything specific for the loss of optimism I’ve had. Nothing more specific than blaming myself, but I can’t help but know that I am NOT the only one that feels this way. There are others out there, the dreamers that have not yet met their dreams, and this is because they’re currently lost in translation at a college they’ve worked so hard to attend. The one thing I want to say to the others, is that you’re not alone if your college expectations didn’t meet with reality, or If moving away from your hometown wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. You’re not alone if losing your virginity made you want to cry, or if you once were the most popular girl in school and now nobody knows your name. You’re not alone if you can’t fall asleep at night on that twin x-long mattress because it’s hard as a rock, or if you feel like you’re suffocating in your dorm room. You’re not alone if you think the college parties are overrated, or you never joined a sorority. The truth of the matter is, college is a place where we are supposed to feel lost. A place for some that will never last long enough, and others, it couldn’t pass by more quickly.
Sometimes I worry when I hear that these are supposed to be the best years of my life. You always hear your parents or the kind of people that would be friends with your parents, saying that we should enjoy the time we have in college. That nothing could be better than these messy dorm rooms and 2x2 showers. You know what I’d like to say to them?... What point in time did you decide that these were the best days of your life? How many moments were you disappointed, what amount of responsibilities led you to eventually spit out these infamous words? I don’t think many people notice when the best years of their lives are passing them. At least that’s what I’ve come up with, because if these are my best years… I definitely am not aware of it.
What I am aware of is how hard I’ve worked to get to the place I am, this beautiful university that looks over the California coastline. People dream of being here, I once was one of them. An eager applicant waiting for my fate to be decided, luckily I was accepted. Yes, ACCEPTED… the word we all have been trained to wait for. This word that will be the answer to all the hard work we put in, the place where all of our dreams are supposed to live. Immediately I was in love. I couldn’t wait to be a part of it. Wear the school colors, scream the school chants, and begin to call a different place home.
My journey to get here was quit peculiar compared to your average teen. I grew up away from the hustle and bustle of a big city, in a small little town called Big Bear Lake. This is a tiny village tucked away in the Southern California Mountains, where people live the simple life. Everybody waves at each other in their cars, (usually American-made Pick-up trucks), you run into your neighbor at the grocery store, and the policemen are your friend’s dads. People here listen to country music and love the outdoors. We camp, ski, snowboard, hike, mountain bike, wakeboard, basically anything under the stars. Reading this description I’m sure it sounds like a nice place to grow up, and it was, but I’d also be lying if I said it wasn’t the same reason why I had to leave. Eventually growing up in the small town mentality, I felt like I was suffocating. There was so much more out there somewhere, so much more I needed to see, and I couldn’t wait my turn to leave. Instead, I decided to graduate Big Bear High when I was sixteen and escape to the real world, or at least what I thought was the “real world.”
From there I said my goodbyes, I didn’t go to prom, I never was the Homecoming Queen, I didn’t even turn my tassel with my best friend… I just left. At the time my parents wouldn’t let me attend a real college university due to my young age, so I accepted their deal and took classes at Pasadena City College in Los Angeles. There I finished my AA in Social Sciences and applied all over, to transfer preferably to obtain a degree in print journalism. To my graces I was accepted at Loyola Marymount University to the Bellarmine College of Liberal Arts. This is a private Roman Catholic School full of mostly upper-class kids who have lived a good life (putting it modestly).
When I packed my bags to move once again, I had an extra piece of luggage full of hope. A rollaway compressed with expectations that these next two years would be considerably better than the last two at community college. There’s something significant and formal about being educated at a university, and there’s something even more exciting about living there at the same time. Moving into the dorms was something I always daydreamed about, the kinds of friends I’d meet, the type of boys that would live down the hall. You could say that I was like many other college hopefuls, who had a vision for it all. What I quickly learned was that my daydreaming had a much nicer view than reality.
There I was, alone in a big city, already a Junior living in sophomore housing placed with roommates that were also transfer students as well. You can foresee the social ramifications that could cause on girls that barely know anybody. The problem was nobody knew anyone else, expect for each other. We all were newbies; nobody had a friend down the hall or knew the cool parties to go to. So what once sounded like a big ball of fun, quickly subsided into a rather stagnant four by four.
Most everything I had expected seemed as if it was tainted with a hint of disappointment. People weren’t as friendly as I thought, but more so very click-ish. I quickly learned that the Sororities/Fraternities living ”The Greek Life” seemed as if they ran every social setting, and not being in a sorority meant not being invited. You could say that I had a tinge of sadness or feelings of yearning when I couldn’t find the right place to belong.
Now I could go on about how things tend to never turn out the way we planned, but the more interesting part, is that sometimes through the clutter, things turn out even better than what we imagined. Me, like everyone else here, came into this situation with a lot of different expectations. The one thing that I’ve learned is to not expect anything, because here I am, almost at the end of my first year at LMU, and although it’s taken some time…things are looking up. These days I look in the mirror and notice that I might not be the most popular, and I might not of joined the prettiest sorority, and I might not of met that great college guy we used to think about in years past, but while trying to be normal I’ve realize you have to just be okay with being different. Be content with not following the crowd, and once that happens, everything will seem to fall into place, and these stuffy rooms of Mckay Hall will slowly begin to feel like home.
