My philosophy professor has a thing for quotes. Walk into her office, and you’ll find yourself overwhelmed by the many words inscribed on the desk and walls and various travel mugs. She believes, passionately, in the influence of a phrase, and as a girl who quotes her favorite authors in the margins of her class notes, I can’t say I don’t trust in the same.

My professor also defines herself as a fan of the beautiful, brilliant Sylvia Plath. I had scheduled a meeting in her office about a week ago, eager to understand which bonus questions she intended to add to the final exam, and of course, fill my mind and soul with more words. As she pressed the tip of her pen to my notebook, marking each set of notes that would be of benefit to my studying, I gazed upon a most stunning quote by Plath, carefully written by my professor’s daughter at the bottom of a picture frame: “I act and react, and suddenly I wonder, ‘Where is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?” My heart dropped and eyes widened.

What would she think of me now? I’m here, at Tulane, writing and studying and meeting both infectious and toxic people. New Orleans, as crazy and big as the city first seemed when flying down, has since defined itself as my home; my younger self had never fathomed my drastic moving from the Northeast. Returning to Boston for Thanksgiving break last week reminded me how quickly time continues to pass, as sitting in the bleachers at my high school’s football game no longer felt like my life; it had become that of someone else, my younger self.

Moving on from the people and place that have shaped my fears and dreams and passions over eighteen years will probably always prove itself to be a strange and overwhelming task, but I have a feeling that the girl I used to be, one to two years ago, would now want me to embark on such an endeavor. She’d revel in my excitement in going to my first frat party, however sweaty and uncomfortable it may be. She’d encourage me to join each and every organization that ignite my passions for art and social justice, as well as remind me to stay confident in the wake of daunting setbacks. She’d want me to move forward, onward from the first chapter of my life; it’s already been written, beautifully.

I thank her for paving the way for my exploring of such a terrifying and thrilling world. And although I am now writing a new chapter, steadily but surely, I will always remain tied to the beginning.