Well, friends, I made it here. After a thousand-something-mile car ride to Kansas, I spent some lovely time with my mother, grandmother, and brother, and then I took a red eye to Boston where I was picked up by my loving friend Madeline and the next morning I was in my dorm. Some of the people in the dorm have been asking me if it’s been a hard transition, and truth be told, the moving part isn’t that difficult. Moving is rather easy for me. Transitioning is a little more difficult.
I’ve felt rather despondent since being here. It’s a lonely process, moving to a new place. You upend all of your habits and have to form new ones. For example, I miss going to gym in the early morning. Now all I have is a little fitness room to go to, and it isn’t the same. I miss going to Costco on Sundays with my roommate. I miss my Starbucks near University Place. I miss my people. I was discussing earlier today the process of moving with a fellow Harvard student to be, and I told her it all goes down to feeling lonely.
It’s been a little depressing too because I haven’t felt that strong feeling of correctness, rightness, about this move. For most of the moves I’ve done before, I’ve felt something strongly inside me that has confirmed it was a good decision and good things would come because of it. This move to Boston has been different. I don’t know that it is the best decision. There are a lot of factors that come into play when delving back into education, and a lot of those factors are negative factors when considering Harvard.
However, I know I will make it the right and the best decision. That’s what’s great about decisions—you make it what it is. A decision is a neutral thing; the outcome is based on you. Even things that seem like “bad” decisions can become your greatest decision.
On a different, yet connected, note, I went out into the city to explore today. I walked a block and bam, I was at the Longfellow House. (So, not that much exploring.) Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived a block down from me. How cool is that? America’s poet in the Victorian period—America’s face at the time, according to some scholars—wrote his poetry, cared for his wife, and raised his children mere feet from where I sleep every night. I think that’s pretty legit.
In touring his house, the history of this entire place—Boston—struck me. I feel so much more connected with the history here than I ever did to the history in Utah. I actually feel like I’m walking near where giants tread. I never had that feeling when I looked into the history and sites in the West.
While on the grounds, it struck me that I’m surrounded by amazingness. I have amazing people supporting me. I have amazing history at my very fingertips. I have an amazing legacy to live up to and surpass as a writer.
So, what are my Harvard feels right now?
Anticipation. I start learning French tomorrow and get a baptism by fire back into academia. Bring it on.
Excitement. There’s so many new things around here, and I’m excited to explore them all.
Nervousness. Will I fit in? Will I make these two years work in my favor? Will I be okay?
Wonder. What will I do in the time I’ve allotted to Harvard and Boston? What will I accomplish? How will I fail? How I learn? And, most importantly, what will I give?
PS: Cool Longfellow history fact. His wife owned the house and all the land around the Longfellow house. She bought it from her father for $1 and love. The little feminist in my squealed at that!