We all can probably recall our earliest or most distinct memories from childhood. For some, it was a family vacation, for others, a dance recital. The things we remember the most strongly might even show a hint of what our personalities will turn into. For me, my earliest memory is playing on the playground swings, swinging myself so high that I couldn’t stop. My teacher blew the whistle to call us inside and my friends took off, leaving me flying terrified in the distance. I was so anxious that I would never come down and would be left alone forever in the air.
I’m not the most relaxed person — see what I meant about our earliest memories and personalities? I still carry a binder like I’m in middle school, and my planner is filled with scribbled reminders and sticky notes on all sides. I arrive 15 minutes early to every event and wake up at the same time every day (6 a.m., thank you very much). I think deeply about nearly every decision I make, from what dining hall to eat at to where a possible career will land me in life. I make pros and cons lists, pondering over future implications and how these decisions will set me up for success both in the short run and the long run. In short, my brain never shuts off. In fact, inspiration for this article came in the middle of a sleepless night.
When it came time to pick a college, I entered the process with this same determination and fervor. I knew that I wanted to major in education since I was 15. There were a myriad of small liberal arts colleges to choose from in my home state, and I spent every waking minute analyzing their websites and social media pages. These colleges were all very similar; they had approximately 1,000 students enrolled, great student teaching opportunities and small class sizes — all things that I value in a school. But I didn’t pick any of the schools on my list.
Another one of my clearest memories came in 2019 while sitting in a Dunkin Donuts with a friend wondering aloud how great it would be to leave our depressing hometown. My friend had just been accepted to his dream school and was ready to take off and follow his dreams. I was never brave enough to take that leap. The fear that the gray, Ohio snow was all I would ever know dawned on me. Surely, this was all there would be to my future. Just like when I was a kid, I was scared that I would be swinging above while my friends left and lived out their dreams without me.
“What about if you applied to an out-of-state school?” my friend said to me. “Vanderbilt has a great education program — could be a good fit for you.”
Considering leaving home for the first time, I had a stroke of genius. Why should I limit myself to six schools that all look the same? I valued small class sizes, yet Vanderbilt also has a 7:1 student-staff ratio. Although I loved the leadership opportunities I had in high school and was excited to stay close to home for college, there was a little light peeking in. Not everything had to be a mind numbing research process — I could pick a school for no grounded reason and no one would be mad. Suddenly, I was back on the swings — but this time they were slowing down. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get off and join my friends to chase our dreams.
I checked off every box on the “chasing my dreams” to-do list; I got into Vanderbilt, tried nearly every club here, got a great job and made amazing friends. And yet, the anxiety that I wasn’t having the perfect college experience was still there. I poured my heart into my schoolwork, but I wasn’t satisfied with the results. Simply crossing the items off of my to-do list did not materialize into the joy and happiness I thought it would. I was back at the top of the swing set, watching my friends from home and at school have more success and fun than me. I got into my dream school, but never got off the swings.
As I walk by large tour groups of bright-eyed prospective students, they almost always ask the million-dollar question: “Why Vanderbilt?” Why Vanderbilt? I too have asked myself this same question nearly every day for three years. For some people, it may be the research opportunities, location or even the lackluster SEC sports. For me, I was never able to answer the questions or, at the very least, develop a positive answer. After all, I never did much in-depth research on Vanderbilt before applying: it was the first decision I ever made on a whim. When I arrived on campus, I found that the humidity was brutal, the football games were boring and I felt alone in the walls of my dorm room every night. The lines at Rand were long. The classes were hard. It was too hot outside. I was homesick.
I’ve opened the transfer application more times than I can remember. I’ve searched for other colleges from every dorm room I’ve inhabited at Vanderbilt. I’ve cried on the phone to my mom and into the shoulders of pretty much every friend I have. I voice my complaints about this school daily. And yet, I never left. I was never ready to pack it all up and go home.
During my first two years of college, in a last-ditch attempt at convincing myself that maybe Vanderbilt wasn’t all that bad, I joined some clubs. While some stuck, my mind was so set on leaving. No matter what I did, I refused to let myself feel happiness and enjoy my new surroundings. The connections I made felt artificial because my brain was stuck and longing for familiarity. I wrote silly articles for The Hustler. I joined the rowing team with no prior rowing experience. I made dinner plans. I did all the things advice boards tell you to do to cure homesickness. No matter what I did, I convinced myself Vanderbilt was the wrong place for me; surely my admission file was tossed in the wrong pile, surely someone made a mistake.
I can’t remember the first time I realized that I was happy being at Vanderbilt. It might’ve been when the weather grew cooler and the leaves left a crunch under my feet. Or maybe it was when I started journaling and noticed there were more smiley faces than usual. And it even might’ve been when I looked forward to eating lunch at Commons because I knew there would be chicken noodle soup. But somewhere along the way, my “Why Vanderbilt?” answer became clear. It was no longer entirely a list of grievances, but instead a list gradually filled with my happiest memories and failed endeavors. My answer is a beautiful and incomplete collection of people, places and things that have had an impact on my being.
Our college experiences will never be perfect. Reality will never quite live up to your wildest expectations. The lines at Rand will always be long. You will get a bad grade on a test. You will miss your friends from back home. But by focusing on all the things Vanderbilt wasn’t, I missed all the things I really loved about it. I noticed that the second the leaves change color in the fall, my camera roll becomes flooded. I was just as excited for the soup in Commons as the countdown to Christmas. I sat in the front row as my friends performed songs or gave speeches and am the first to read their articles the second they drop on The Hustler website. I can tell you all the things I hate about Vanderbilt, but you would also miss my joy and laughter along the way.
The best stories come from the chances we were too scared to take — even writing this article took me three years of trial and error. I was scared to write this, scared to sit with new people in the dining hall, scared to tell my family I was homesick. But I realized how lucky I was to wake up, attend this university and live the life I worked so hard to achieve. Write the article, close the transfer application and take a picture of the cherry blossoms.
Vanderbilt saw something in me just as I had seen something in it when I chose to apply. I never wanted to go to college out of state, yet something compelled me to apply to a university I had never heard of, in a state I had only been to twice. Every time I opened the transfer application, something kept me here at Vanderbilt, even when I could not think of a single answer to “Why Vanderbilt?”. Whatever your answer is, remind yourself of it often. Remember the reasons for why you chose to stay and look for little things that confirm you made the right choice. Seek joy, dance in the rain, and remember your reasons for staying, even if it isn’t clear yet. Get off the swing set. I promise it isn’t as scary as you think.
I like to think that my time at Vanderbilt has been a mosaic — a lot of different broken pieces coming together to make something beautiful. My pieces include old memories with hometown friends, late nights in the newsroom and all the other reasons for staying at this school. College is a place to make mosaics. Join a dance group even if you have never danced before. Learn a new language, take a cooking class, go for a sunrise walk. College is a time for grieving familiarity while seeking adventure, so find new pieces to blend with the old ones. Mosaics are constantly waiting for new pieces to be added to their complexities.
Life will never be perfect, but we can find beauty in the brokenness. The next time someone asks “Why Vanderbilt?”, be honest with them and yourself. I have a feeling your answer is clearer than you might think.
