A lot of the time while we are in college, we seem to lose sight of our projected goals.
In high school, we are constantly asked “what do you want to do with your life” and, hopefully, by the time we graduate we know the answer to that question along with where we are going to school, what we want to study, and what type of job we want to be placed in. We plan it all out, our hopes and dreams, yet we somehow lose all that the minute we get there.
This week, my school had its Fall preview days for the upcoming freshmen who interested in Mississippi State. They were everywhere, like truly everywhere. These high school seniors were all dressed up in their best attire to come tour campus, talk with clubs, and learn about majors. They were viciously planning their futures and it made me question myself: why was I acting like I was here, in college, for no reason.
Now, please understand that I do obviously realize that I am at college and I am paying for this blah blah blah. But, hear me out! It feels like just another part of my life. I have been going to school for the past 13 years of my life, so the only real change is location, parties, and no parents. I do not think my brain has fully wrapped itself around the fact that my main purpose here is to educate myself in a particular field of study so that I can graduate and get a job that I excel at.
The best thing about this realization is that I figured out that this is not my end point. Not at all. I stress so much about grades and boys and building a resume and studying and money and trying to figure myself out that I lose sight in the real goal of it all: Life beyond school.
Right now, I am sitting in a twin sized bed that has a crappy mattress topper on it. I am budgeting my last $100 that I must make last until the middle of December. Tonight, for dinner, I had popcorn and a Dr. Pepper. I wear XL t-shirts and leggings every day to class and currently, I am so behind on laundry that I am wearing t-shirts from high school.
I haven’t had a fresh meal in several months. I fake tan to cover up the dark circles and sickly-looking skin that this germ infest campus gives to me. My days are instantly made better if I see a dog, or even more satisfying and rare, a baby. My life is centered around exams, food, and sorority. This is college.
But this is not all of it. It cannot be.
I do love this chapter in my life, but I cannot wait to experience what all my planning and stress have prepared me for. One day, I will have a big girl job, at an office, at a desk. I will not only work around amazing clothes, but I will be wearing those amazing clothes, strutting my sassy self down the streets of who-knows-where. I will go home to a big, slobbery dog in my fancy high rise apartment decorated to the nines. I will prepare an actual meal and eat it while watching not Netflix, but actual T.V.. I will go to sleep in my king sized, soft-as-a-cloud bed and fall fastly asleep, excited for the next day ahead.
Silly, I know.
But I cannot help but think about the amazing life I am preparing for myself. I get so worked up about this, that, and the other, and end up focusing way too much on insignificant things that will not matter 5 years from now.
We must start giving a little bit more credit to ourselves because we are doing a great job right now for the future us. We are constantly acting like college is where we are going to spend the rest of our lives.
It is merely a place to prepare for the lives we wish to live.
College is fun. It is a time to wild out and get crazy. It is a brief moment in time where we can find out who we really are. But it is also for learning and growing and preparation. Most importantly, college is not everything. It is 4(ish) years out of 80+. We cannot put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect and skinny and fashionable and to have a boyfriend and have money and make perfect grades. It is not worth the fuss!
Just remember: C’s get degrees, popcorn IS healthy for you, and he is so not worth it. The rest will fall into place at the perfect time, in the perfect way.
