It is entirely unbelievable that I’m writing this piece. Truly, four years ago, I was shakily submitting my very first Her Campus article and severely doubting the whole college deal. Fresh out of the COVID-19 trenches and trudging around my last-choice school, I desperately tried to hide my growing terror.
What if I picked the wrong school? What if I don’t make friends? What if I’m not meant to be a writer? What if I don’t make the soccer team? What if I fail my major? What if I hate it here?
And, the even more daunting question, what if I fall in love with this place?
I’m slow to love. I’m an outward realist with a horribly hopeful, mushy inside. I critique, I judge, and I do my best to stand by opinions that protect my heart. Anyone who knows my story knows I never planned on going to Texas Christian University. TCU was too close to home, too small, and simply not the grand plan I envisioned for my four-year adventure. So, when the decision process forced my hand and I placed my deposit at TCU, I tried to stand by my distaste. I figured I’d transfer eventually, and there was no need to grow attached.
But I couldn’t help it.
TCU was…perfect. My lovely friends swept me into the chaos, I made the soccer team, and I started writing for you all. I landed the world’s most wonderful job as a tour guide. I even grew a soft spot for football, a sport I had no prior interest in whatsoever. And sure, freshman year came with plenty of challenges. I broke up with my boyfriend of four years (iykyk), survived the aftermath of studying abroad (IYKYK), and conquered a plethora of wild mishaps in between. (Nothing screams freshman year quite like being locked out of your dorm room in nothing but your bathrobe and having to beg the cute RA to let you back in.)
In the span of just one year, I met a version of myself I never thought existed. She was funny, confident, and involved. She cared, openly and without restraint. She let herself fall in love with a place she would eventually have to leave behind. I don’t know whether to hug that girl or punch her in the chest. My heart has been so full, and now, because of it, that same heart is shattering.
Looking back at my college years
I remember one of my first football games at TCU. It was late September and still blazing hot. My then fledgling friendship with my now best friend and long-time roommate Tara was being put to the test. A burning sun, a tied game, and a packed student section should have rubbed every part of me wrong. But even with sweat dripping down my skin, when Tara turned to me and asked, “Are we happy?” I responded with “Yeah, we’re happy.” I meant it.
Sophomore year, I was gifted with the rare opportunity to live with my best friends. Sure, we raged through an apartment hunting disaster, but what friend group doesn’t? In the end, we taped hundreds of pictures on our dorm walls, binged too much reality television, and consumed countless calories of Mellow Mushroom pizza on stormy nights. One morning, the campus tornado sirens began to blare. We slowly crawled out of our rooms, staring at one another in the shared hall. “Do we need to go to the basement?” I asked. The RA pounded her fists on our door, answering my question. Tara made us wait while she brushed her teeth, and we laughed and laughed because dental hygiene is the priority when faced with churning winds, naturally.
That year, I felt lucky to stay awake every night, waiting to hear my friends come safely home. We were family then — flawed, aching with tears and laughter alike. Our mannerisms melded and reflected one another. I learned a lot (including, on occasion, physics). When summer rolled around, we sobbed in the parking lot outside our dorm, wondering how we were going to cope with it all.
Turns out, being a junior is pretty awesome. You have all the experience of the seniors without any of the pressure, and you’re of legal age to explore your city’s nightlife. The Stockyards became a staple in our weekend routine, in addition to my Sunday starts on the pitch. The club soccer team made a run for the national championship in Austin that fall. I recall hosting the girls at my childhood home. My backyard was full of food and chatter, just like my old high school varsity years. I thought I’d lost that feeling. Teammates. You’ll find them in every stage of life.
A few of us finally caved and joined a sorority after two years of boycotting the notion. Alas, it was a rollercoaster, but adventure is the key to growth. I adopted a sorority little, Morgan, and eventually my grand-little, Anna. Crazy how fast I went from fumbling freshman to trusted grandma. But they keep me young and smiling. Worth the insane entry fee.
And somehow, here we are. Senior year.
Bucket list items were cleared. Videos were recorded. Crushes were had. Friends were lost and found. Crawfish was consumed. We attended all our lasts: our last party, last football game, last class. I don’t have words for it all. For any of it. Just an overwhelming feeling of joy, gratitude, and a desperation to cling to the fraying threads of this finished chapter. I fear I’ll have to be viciously torn from my college years with a force stronger than my friend Hannah’s killer Riff Ram.
looking beyond them
Just about a year ago, I recorded a message to my senior self: “I hope you have a job offer. I hope that you’re taking time to do fun things that aren’t jobs. And I hope that when the time comes to graduate, you feel ready.”
That’s the million-dollar ask. Am I ready to graduate?
The mental breakdowns hitting me twice daily like clockwork would argue otherwise.
But maybe I deserve more credit than that. Maybe I owe it to that funny, confident, caring girl from four years ago to be brave again. Maybe that girl, with her open heart despite her doubt, set me up with the skills to survive this next leap. Maybe my fear of this next step is just a reflection of the luck and love I’ve experienced up until this moment.
What if I don’t get a job? What if I lose the friends I’ve made? What if I start to forget my college memories? What if nothing that comes after this moment compares to everything before it? What if I fail?
And what if I don’t? What if graduating from college is the ticket to an even better life, a better me, all because of what TCU gave me?
In the end, I will always be a Horned Frog. I will always cherish my time at TCU. And most of all, I will forever be grateful for all I’ve learned and experienced here. I hope writing for Her Campus and sharing these moments with all of you has helped your journey as much as it’s helped mine. A writer is nothing without her readers, and every one of you has given my words meaning. From the bottom of my breaking heart, thank you.
what does it mean to be a horned frog?
Everything. Don’t forget that.
For the last time…
HCXO,
Colleen