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Last weekend, I went home for the first time in two months. For some, that’s an unimaginable amount of time away from the comforts of pre-college life. For me, that was a rather quick turn-around from the last time I was breathing more familiar air.
I’m of a fiercely independent breed, determined to achieve autonomy by needing only myself. I admittedly can struggle with remembering to call my Dad back, and may go days at a time without cooing over a picture of my yellow lab that’s waiting patiently for me at home. I sometimes take too long to respond to my Mom’s text messages and cannot quite remember if the bookshelf in my room, the one that holds my favorite memories, is painted green or yellow. I guess you could say I’ve managed to quickly distance myself from all the parts of my life that make me who I am, and the people who support me, in my quest to conquer the world alone.
When my Mom called me to ask what she should make for dinner the night I was coming home, I drew a complete blank on any of my favorite meals. She was horrified, convinced that I had willingly forgotten everything about her and about home. “Fine then”, she had remarked over the phone, “I’ll just decide myself.”
When I walked into my 1920s house through the familiar, creaky door, I was flooded with a familiar and wonderful smell. My dog danced around at my feet as my nostrils were bombarded with scents of onions, garlic, and warm bread. She had chosen well – a beef bourguignon that I had most certainly missed. Nostalgia saturated my tongue as I realized how much I had longed for my parents over the last two months. I missed always having someone there for me through anything. I missed having a helping hand. I missed not always being the chef and maid of my household, and I missed having someone to greet me when I returned home at the end of a long day. I missed a time when I didn’t feel so alone.
My mom sent me home with Tupperware upon Tupperware of her homemade soup that I love so much, along with a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of chocolate chip cookies. I was very pained to leave, even with the knowledge that I’d be back in a few short weeks for Thanksgiving.
As I sat back in my student apartment munching on my mom’s cookies, it dawned on me that all of those things I miss about my pre-college life are still there. I may not be lucky enough to often indulge in my mom’s homemade cooking, but everything else is still accessible to me, just from a distance. My parents will always have my back no matter what, and will be there to help me through anything. They’ll be my helping hands as much as they can, and as much as I let them be. And they’ll always pick up the phone and greet me when I call upon my return home at the end of a long day.
It’s okay to be driven and headstrong and fiercely independent. It’s okay to be self-reliant and unaccepting of much assistance. But you can independently conquer the world without being alone. Accepting help from those that love you is the only way to get through the chaos that is college, and they’ll be there for you, no matter how many miles lie between you.
I am thankful to have support to fall back on when getting by on my own gets tough, and it does get tough. Mostly though, I’m just trying to make these cookies last until I can escape from these piles of homework for my next home-cooked meal.