I remember so distinctly the first sunny February day during my first year on campus. The air had been cold for what seemed like months, and our required masks barely kept our noses warm on the walk from Commons to main campus. That first spring-like day made campus feel like summer camp. Even with the masking requirements that year, campus came alive in the spring. College, in many ways, embodies the essence of spring: a season of renewal, growth and endless possibilities. Campus transformed into a vibrant canvas of green, where students lounged and laughed, soaking up the sun. I found myself drawn to the lawns around campus, laying in the grass all Saturday, begging my friends to join me and disregarding my homework.
But on these warm days, my world expanded in ways I hadn’t anticipated, and so did my understanding of myself. My favorite season is autumn: I’ve made it a part of my personality, even writing articles about how much I love pumpkin spice. As a native to rural Ohio, spring was not a season we experienced, and the summers were hot and humid. This made the brief period of the year when the air grew cool and the leaves turned orange feel magical. Fall meant comfort, football, cozy sweaters and late nights with friends on the weekends. It was a constant in my life — a familiar comfort that I held onto tightly.
Despite how much I loved “photosynthesizing” on Alumni Lawn, I still said that I hated spring. How could I like spring when autumn was so great? I found myself clinging to the past — holding onto my fond memories of autumn as if letting go of one of my favorite things meant losing a part of myself. Finding comfort in the nostalgia of autumn was a hard habit to break. But, by trapping myself in the past, I was missing out on what was right in front of me: the vibrant energy and happiness that spring so generously offers.
I enrolled at Vanderbilt as a history and secondary education double major. I knew I wanted to be a social studies teacher, so the logical path in my mind was to study history in order to be an expert in one of the biggest fields of social studies. Once I started taking history classes at Vanderbilt, something didn’t feel right — I didn’t feel a connection to the material, and I dreaded going to each class. I acknowledge that discomfort is an important part of college, and we can learn a lot about ourselves by stepping outside of our comfort zone. But sometimes, embracing that discomfort isn’t worth it in the long run. Sitting in your discomfort will prevent you from uncovering joy in other spaces.
During this time, I remembered something my sociology teacher told me in high school: “There is never a perfect time for any change.” There will always be pros and cons to every decision. Rather than consistently being overwhelmed with my history classes, I switched my second major to sociology on a whim. Turns out, I really enjoyed researching social theories and found my niche in the criminology classes.
This quick change of my major made me more confident and receptive to future change, and I learned an important lesson: Sometimes, clinging to past ideas can prevent us from fully appreciating the present. Changing your mind, whether it’s about your major or favorite color, can be a pathway for embracing and celebrating what’s currently enriching your life.
As I navigate college and beyond, I decided that it’s okay to let go of old favorites and embrace new ones — it’s a part of growing up. Just as I came to realize this, my true joy was found in the vibrant days of spring, rather than the autumnal comforts I once adored. You, too, might find that new interests and changing preferences can bring unexpected happiness and fulfillment.
To the first-year pre-med students taking a psychology elective and enjoying it much more than biology and chemistry: It’s okay to sign up for more psychology classes, and it’s okay to change your mind about being a doctor — even if it’s been your dream since kindergarten.
To the graduating senior who is feeling lost in the job market: It’s okay to take a job that’s not your forever career. If college lasted forever, it wouldn’t be as fun. Four years is a long time, but not when you think about the greater timelines of our lives. At Vanderbilt, we only get four Rites of Springs, four Spring Break trips to Gatlinburg or Pensacola City Beach and four first weeks of school where you convince yourself 18 credit hours will be manageable this year. Eventually, we will be calling an Uber to somewhere that isn’t Broadway. We will be out in the world with fewer chances to try new things.
The fleeting nature of our college years is precisely what makes them so special. College is supposed to be a time of wonder, joy, heartache and self-discovery. Sometimes self-discovery is the one week period when you think you should be a nursing major, and sometimes it might be when you realize your favorite color isn’t red anymore. It’s okay to change your major, and it’s okay to change your favorite color. College is short — try to change as many things as possible.
