Change is the nature of the beast. To transfer, transition, transport or translate is to change from one state of being to another. As a transfer student, I can attest that change is what it’s all about. When I graduated high school way back in 2015, I had no idea what to do. Forgoing college was never an option, nor could I not have a job (I would make such a good heiress and/or hermit), so I did what most kids lost after high school did: I went to community college. Watching my high school friends, through the veil of Instagram, go through orientation on beautiful, bucolic campuses while I sweated trying to find a parking spot was my first taste of the bittersweet nature of change. They grew and changed, making new friends and going to parties in upperclassmen’s backyards. I heard their horror stories of disastrous roommates and terrible first dates like, to quote Oliver Sacks, an anthropologist on Mars. Never in my life had I had a roommate, nor a terrible one at that. I also, conversely, never had a bestest new friend in a roommate either. When my old classmates came back from college in the summertime, they were different people, and so was I. The interludes between semesters show the changes more than the semesters themselves. Losing track of so many old high school friends was liberating and terrifying. Community college is a great way to see that anyone at any age or financial situation can receive a good education close to home. It is not, however, a good place to meet exciting new people because everyone is from your hometown. Granted, I was from a large suburb, but the leftover dregs found their way to community college, and we were all lost and/or working our way through school. Countless times I was assured that not everyone goes away to college, nor does everyone go to college at all! I was at my own pace, close to home, and saving money!
After a few years, however, I was done living at home with my family and trying to take as many horrible core college classes as possible. I wanted a big university, far away (yet held in by the anchor of in-state tuition). So, in 2017, I started at a large state university (which shall remain nameless) which I still love. It didn’t work out, to condense a long, lonely semester that mostly consisted of me working to death or crying in my apartment. I was lost in the city and lost in the crowds that surrounded me everywhere. In this, there is the paradox of loneliness: surrounded by people yet so alone.
Everyone I talked to at home before I went said “You’re going there? But it’s so big!” I somehow felt confident enough to do it at the time. When the same people ask me now why that large university didn’t work out, usually I parrot the doubts they fed me before I arrived. They nod sympathetically, and congratulate me on my new college. Usually, I thank them, but a part of me still retains that habitual loneliness I acquired in the city. As a transfer student, on both occasions, I went through the similar beginnings: there are separate orientations with special counselors there to assure you that you will find your community and your voice at the new place. They throw pamphlets at you like candy and remind you that they’re always there, to talk, they say. You nod and scoff. This is my third college in four years, I can do this, you think.
The funny thing about being a transfer is that all of the students look eerily similar at both places but they are always different. It’s a new set of names to remember, along with the buildings, professors and procedures to absorb. The people I graduated high school with have already or are preparing to graduate college. Due to my winding road in academia, I have at least another year and a half to go. Therefore, everyone on my academic level is younger than me. I can see it in their dress, their mannerisms, and their friendships. How do you find friends as an older student when everyone your age is woefully behind, like you, or graduated? When the people in your classes have already made college friends, lost those college friends and then made new friends, how are you supposed to compete with that level of history? When I see people I recognize at my new, much smaller school, I get a thrill. Sometimes, when I make eye contact with a stranger on campus, they will verbally say hi to me, which at first threw me off, but now is so nice and provincial. The people I recognize from class will say hi and smile. This gives me the biggest thrill of all, but the recognition usually stops there. I sign up for clubs to find my contemporaries in age lead said clubs and everyone signing up is 18 and much more idealistic than me. Time and higher level classes make it hard to maintain clubs, and eventually I end up more lonely than I started.
My new school, John Carroll University, pleasantly surprised me with how accommodating everyone was to my situation. They have separate commuter events and a commuter lounge where other people coming from home can gather. Granted, it’s still awkward, but at least at this school some people understand where I’m coming from. The kindness that strangers have shown me is also reason for hope. I always enjoy recognizing people. Usually it’s along the lines of ‘oh! It’s that guy from that class’ or ‘the girl who was at my orientation,’ but it’s a start. Perhaps it is the Catholic atmosphere, but strangers acknowledge me. They greet me when we pass, and sometimes they will hold the door for me. When they cut me in line for food, they will apologize and let me go ahead before I can even speak. I have tremendous hope for the future. I am determined not only to finish my degree here, but to thrive while doing so. I am a completely different person than I was when I graduated college. I don’t need an armada of friends, but a few will do. Loneliness has tempered me, as well as isolated me, but it has all made me stronger. I am resilient and I try to pass on the kindness I have received. The only thing I would wish for now, is a green light to know when to try to meet new people and when to bunker down and try to endure the loneliness as best as I can manage. But, I suppose that is the allure of change: it is always unexpected.