First, I’d like to say that college is nothing like the movies.
I imagined that I’d have this huge friend group who would hang out and take random road trips to the city. I thought I’d be on the verge of starting my career by now with some internships under my belt, and neither are the case at all.
It’s hard to believe it’s been four years since my life truly began. I was 17 with a list of dreams. My plan was to pursue my degree in journalism, and potentially minor in creative writing, so I could start my journey as an author.
My freshman year was easily the most traumatizing experience I’ve ever had. I experienced my first-ever mental breakdown. I cut off all but eight inches of my hair and was the spitting image of Lord Farquaad for a good four months. That was also the year Nasjay Murry died, and at that moment I knew whatever idea I had of college had gone out the window. Nothing was ever the same.
By my sophomore year, I had joined the Red Sea, The Scout and a couple of other organizations. I only had a few friends, but they were just enough for me. Even though everything was going right, I was having an identity crisis. I had no idea what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Because of this crisis, I hardly remember sophomore year. All I remember is coming home that summer, getting a car and working nearly every day to pay off my tuition.
Junior year was surprisingly very eventful — in the beginning, at least. I was roommates with a new friend and our relationship was flourishing. I even landed an internship that I genuinely enjoyed. This was also the year that I partied like my life depended on it.
All that came to a halt when I had to get an emergency surgery. Things became even worse when my recovery time overlapped with Arch Madness. This was my first time going as the photographer, and there was no way I was missing that opportunity.
So there I was, hobbling around the Enterprise Center with a donut pillow in one hand and my camera dangling from the other. Despite the pain, that unforgettable experience made me realize I didn’t want to be a writer — I wanted to be a sports photographer.
Everything was on the up until COVID-19 ransacked the country and the rest of the world. All of a sudden, I was back at home, falling asleep on Zoom wondering when the grocery store was going to get their next shipment of tissue. I never really focused on my mental health until COVID-19 prevented me from doing everything I once enjoyed and took me out of my element.
Now that it’s been over a year in the pandemic world, I have picked up many hobbies, some of which have completely obliterated my original plan. At this point, I’m not sure if I want to be a photographer. I loved the idea of aesthetics during quarantine so much that I developed some skills to increase social media engagement. Now, I think I want to pursue a career in social media marketing, which has nothing to do with my “plan.”
This story was chaotic and eventful, but it’s mine. Over these four years, I have learned that there’s no such thing as a plan, just ideas.
After writing this reflection, I am shocked. I am nothing that I wanted to be when I was a freshman. However, I am everything that I wanted to be as a person. I have the greatest friends who have kept me grounded as well as a supportive family. I love who I am now and can’t wait to see what’s ahead for me.
