There are few things in life that can convince us to leave our hometown niche as effectively as the prospect of a college education. After all, sacrifices must be made to in order to get that cushy job that is, if we’re being honest, anything but a freelance dog-walker in this day and age (and even that requires a suitable history of canine experience). Unfortunately, many of the universities and colleges that are willing to give students enough financial aid to actually pursue a further education without living in a cardboard box for the 4+ years of its duration, happen to be in random places you’d never thought of.

If you're coming from the coast to a landlocked college, it can be a daunting task to reconcile the $20,000 you got from that school nobody’s heard of, with the fact that you probably won’t see an incline in your new environment steeper than the bank of the Mississippi or those really impressive hay stacks you saw on the drive in. Like the rush that comes from stepping into any new, long-awaited chapter in one’s life, leaving home for school for the first time is both terrifying and exciting.

This is as it should be. Leaving to start life in a whole new place is an incredible chance rife with a treasure trove of possibilities of what could be, who you could become. Its good to be excited about this, and most people are. One of the big obstacles that stops people from submerging themselves in the deep end of their new life is thoughts about what life was like when you didn’t live in flyover country. Coming from the coast, the trigger could be your traitor of a mind recalling how it felt to step outside in the mornings and have the breeze that brings notes of salt wafting across your nose and swelling into your lungs, and the low burp of a foghorn gently saying good-morning to your ears. You might cruise down the street in your Birkenstocks, only to receive an onslaught of uninvited looks questioning your knowledge of fashion. That part of your brain hardwired to respond to judgement with sarcasm and a squinty-eyed look of superiority might say, ‘You clearly bought that flannel from the Gap’, as you stroke the grimy sleeve of your own, prideful of the fact that it came from the mens section of the thrift store.

This is just one way the differences between the place we fondly think of as ‘home’ and ‘the place I currently am (a long-term but decidedly transitory resident of’) can manifest themselves. They feed on our often subconscious determination to compare everything about where we came from to where we are now, and the trick our minds play of glorifying everything about the place we find ourselves pining for and subtly deleting all the things we once found mediocre - even, god forbid, less than satisfactory - does nothing to help curb the pang we feel for the place we left behind. But saying how you don’t fit in to the Midwest culture will only leave you in an isolated bubble of living half in your head, stewing in self-pity and a deep detestation for the emptiness you see on the horizon every time (where the hell are the peaks you’ve been Instagramming for the past 6 years?!) . The truth is, it can suck to be in a different place. Coming from a home where I was an hour away from both a mountain range dubbed the “American Alps” and the thundering shore of the Pacific ocean, I have been spoiled beyond repair. Sometimes I can’t help but equate my college biosphere with an impossibly large slice of stale bread with no glass of replenishing water in sight, and I am just an ant looking for the way off of the bread I mistakenly thought would be a good snack but how on earth can I find my way if everything looks exactly the same no matter which way I look?! Whew!

But the midwest is not a bad metaphor about bread. It is a part of the world with even more to offer than wherever you just came from, no matter how much you love home, because it is ultimately just another place that has opened up a small space for you in its life, just like any other place does when you go to it and engage with its people and environment. How you shape that space, what you make your niche into, is all up to you. Your life in the Midwest is just like any other life you could start anywhere else: in your hands, and still yet perfectly pliable in its fundamental shape. The only difference is the tools the Midwest will offer you to help you shape your life. If one can be open to that, the rest is easy, and appreciation will come in due time.

Sometimes, you won’t be able to get rid of that feeling of wishing you were elsewhere, and thats okay too; it doesn't do well to replace one life with the other. Just remember there is a new world to explore right in front of you: yes, the very same world you might have a hard time seeing as anything more than intermittent cow and corn fields. Dig a little deeper.

And if all else fails, its only four years of your life. That, and it’ll be the best lesson on how to deal with bipolar weather you’ll ever get.