Still preparing

I’m an over-preparer. I always carry what my friends have dubbed a “mom pouch,” keeping Band-Aids, eye drops, chapstick, Advil and other necessities on hand at all times. I purchase double of everything at the grocery store, and then I buy extra on top of that so I never run out. If I'm going to a new building on campus, I search online for the floor plans in advance so I don’t get lost.

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I assumed I had over-prepared myself for the college experience. I had three years of experience taking college credit classes during high school and even more years of taking advanced classes. I graduated with a 3.9 GPA and almost perfect attendance. I was heavily involved with activities that were beneficial to my mental health and my future career.

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I believed I had done everything I could. I ignored all the warnings about how demanding classes would be and how much more laborious it is to socialize and befriend others.

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I had this in the bag. Nothing would stump me. How could I, an honors student with tons of friends, mess this up?

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Yet, I did.

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Despite that confidence, all the warnings about college were proven to be the case. The beginning of my freshman year was a struggle. I was baffled.

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My ignorance of my abilities clouded my judgment. No amount of advice could have prepared me for how easy it is to become so consumed by your workload that you allow a whole semester, and your chance at a social life, to fly by.

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I endured a plethora of challenges. I felt isolated, abandoned and left behind. Like everyone was cruising along on their bikes while I was scrambling to find my balance on training wheels. Like everyone could see in the dark while my flashlight batteries had died.

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Homework till 10 p.m. on a Friday night, eating dinner alone in my room, breakups and struggling to make friends: My freshman year looked like a checklist of what not to do.

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I could effortlessly dwell on the past, mourning the result of circumstances I had created. But if I’ve learned anything from the past few months, it's that I have so much room to grow. There is so much of myself I’ve yet to unearth. I could plant myself down and be woeful that I wasted one of my four years at Miami. Or, I could appreciate the three more years here I have to learn, revise and improve. I could look back at my first semester and begin a transformation.

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***

When the fall semester kicked off, I told myself the same thing I did every year: school comes first. My social life would manifest naturally through meeting new people in classes and extracurriculars.

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This was the mindset that helped me flourish in high school. It couldn’t fail me now.

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What I didn’t recognize was that, unlike college, I was privileged enough to see my friends numerous times every day. What that mindset resulted in was multiple Friday and Saturday nights alone, instead of spending time with friends.

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One particular Friday night stands out vividly in my mind. It was around 10 p.m., and I was working on one of the million assignments I had been assigned for MJF 105. Stationed at my desk in front of my laptop, I was trying desperately to stay focused and awake.

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I was alone, as my roommate had departed an hour ago to go party with friends. This situation was not uncommon for me. I hear a buzz and notice the light of my phone screen, displaying a Snapchat notification from her. I opened the photo and felt my heart drop into my stomach.

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Even though it was the back of someone's head, I immediately knew who it was. My partner at the time was en route to the same party as my roommate. My partner, who definitely should have invited me, had left my messages on delivered for hours.

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Tears immediately welled up in my eyes. I could hear them hitting the notebook paper as I stared at the image.

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The conversation with them the next morning was not a pleasant one, filled with excuses about how last-minute the decision was and that they didn't think I’d want to go. Looking back, I understand I was not at fault. But in the moment, I wondered if I had somehow illustrated myself as someone who had no time for fun.

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My heightened attention and focus on my workload altered my priorities, an issue that manifested clearly when my roommate and I found a friend group before the semester even began.

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We attended a pre-semester program called Discovery Bound, which is designed to get incoming students adjusted to the campus and various resources at Miami before school starts. Through this program, we made some good friends, and eventually a huge group chat was created with everyone we met.

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These friends started routinely getting dinner together. However, my attendance slowly became determined by the amount of homework I had due the next day and therefore dwindled. Every night, I would see the “What’s the plan for dinner tonight?” texts pop up, and every time I would weigh the pros and cons of attending, only to stay home.

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I started the semester with the Diplomat Standard meal plan, receiving 16 meal swipes a week. I knew I’d eat a quick breakfast in my room, and I planned to eat lunch and dinner at the dining halls, but I still wanted extra meal swipes in case I decided to get breakfast with friends one morning. Yet I barely used any. Only 21, over five months, to be exact.

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***

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I fell victim to workaholic tendencies. Not only did these tendencies impact my social life, but they also impacted my attendance for a very important extracurricular to me: The Miami Student (TMS) newspaper.

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I had weekly meetings to attend: all-staff on Sundays and Campus and Community on Mondays.

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Should be easy, right? Apparently not.

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My stress over mountains of homework paralyzed me, keeping me in my room until everything was completed. I thought there was no possible way I could spare an hour of my day to attend a meeting and pick up a story assignment.

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The edits I received on my first few stories had me frozen in fear. My first article had over 90 comments; I thought I had failed my high school journalism teacher. I was the former editor-in-chief of my high school’s newspaper, how could I forget to put a comma inside of quotation marks?

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The embarrassment of silly mistakes and the previously mentioned stress hindered my ability to think. My TMS meeting attendance dropped as the semester went on, despite still wanting to stay involved. I love writing and there's nothing else I would rather dedicate my life to doing than telling the stories of others. But, if I couldn't submit an impressive first draft, was I even good enough anymore?

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I could have contributed so much more to TMS, which I have made my mission this semester. Last semester, I only wrote four stories. This semester, I’ve written at least eight and the number continues to rise.

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My first semester was filled with moments where I did too much and did too little. My scale constantly tipped back and forth, rarely finding equilibrium.

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In college, I was optimistic about continuing my love for dance. My quest to find a group was a classic example of third time's charm.

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My first step was to do extensive research on the Hub (did I mention I was an over-preparer?) My search yielded three options, and I signed up for their open houses at Mega Fair. After open houses for the first two organizations, I had a feeling those groups weren’t the ones for me. I had almost lost hope when I visited the open house for Miami Dance Corps (MDC).

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The first time I entered the studio in Phillips Hall, I was at an open house for the first dance group I was interested in. The environment wasn't right. Everyone was too strict, too uptight, too perfect. Sirens in my mind screamed, “YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE; RETREAT QUICKLY.”

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But this time, when I stepped into the studio, I wasn’t afraid. From the moment I entered, I knew this would become my group. Everyone greeted each other with such excitement and joy, ready to catch up with each other over the past three months. The routines they taught us were not made to judge our abilities. They were just for fun.

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Within MDC, I have found a home and formed close friendships. I can strike up a conversation with anyone, regardless of year or level of authority. I can crack jokes with the vice president and not feel intimidated by their title.

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Unlike TMS, I was strict with my attendance here. I involved myself with nine different dances and showed up to every social event. But I could have been better at forming friendships. I should have made plans with them on weekends, sent those “let's get dinner before rehearsal” texts or planned study dates.

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This second semester – although still challenging – has seen a shift. I’m utilizing my meal plan more often at Bell Tower Commons. I’m showing up to TMS meetings and have joined The Miami Student Magazine. I’ve put my name in to run for an executive board position at MDC and am considering choreographing with my friends next semester.

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There are still nights when I eat dinner alone in my room. I still stay up way too late completing assignments. I still stay home most weekends.

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I’ve learned to celebrate my growth. I’ve learned to treasure the moments I have to be social with people on campus. I’ve learned it's OK to stay in and play video games all night with friends from back home rather than going out. I’ve accepted that not everything will play out as smoothly as I expect.

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Sure, I’ll have to find a new roommate for sophomore year. I’ll have to push myself to be more social. I’ll have to respect my limits when I’m doing too much and hold myself accountable when I’m not doing enough.

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At the end of the day, there's nothing I can do to change the past. A part of me is grateful for the experience. I can share my story, my accomplishments and my mistakes, in hopes that someone entering college who, like I once did, is thinking “I’ll be okay,” and won’t fall down the same rabbit hole.

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I could never have ever prepared myself for how my first-year was going to unfold. And that’s OK. Maybe I need to start letting life run its course instead of trying to pull strings behind the scenes.

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Maybe I don’t always need to be so prepared.

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