- You'll want to sleep. A lot.
In the mornings. Afternoons, and through the evenings. Before class. After class. Between classes. The only time you won't be able to sleep is when you're supposed to. - You'll eat weird meals. A lot.
Chocolate bar for dinner, rice cake for breakfast. PB&J if you're feeling fancy and need some lunch. - Your roommates will not always be conscientious.
You will find dirty dishes left in the sink. Your cereal will get stolen. Your milk will be used. You'll wake up at 3AM, enter the kitchen, and see what was once boxed wine spilled everywhere. Did I mention the broken glass? - You'll commit to the gym. A lot. ...and it will last all of five minutes.
Second to this point, the "freshman fifteen" is alive and well in graduate school. You will allocate a good amount of time to self-care, which involves going to the gym. And you'll do it, using the schedule you've eked out carefully. Once. Twice. Enough to get a few selfies on the treadmill after three minutes of running. And then? You'll use that time to sleep. - You're really happy when class gets canceled.
You can use the time to do some studying. Free time allows you to be productive! Right? ...right?
The more likely scenario? Refer to point #1. - You'll join ten clubs/societies and commit to maybe one of them.Archery sounded really cool at the time.
- You'll feel the same sense of displacement, loneliness, alienation and self-doubt you experienced when you were 18 and deathly afraid of college. (And you'll make the mistake of believing no one else feels that, too).
It's the big leagues, now. 300 pages of reading for a class in a week is totally normal. You'll still glaze over obscure readings and question what it is that got you here. Surely it wasn't merit. It was most definitely a mistake. You will beg yourself not to feel regret because regret is for people who don't have courage, and you want to think you have courage. ...but everyone else seems happy! Everyone else seems to have a grip on things. Why are you so different? - You'll cry. A lot.
Like a hormonal pregnant woman, you will cry. You'll cry when the store is out of pens. You'll cry when you can't find aluminum foil. You'll cry when the pizza place is closed and it was your last resort for dinner. You'll cry yourself to sleep because you miss home, your dog, and the glove of your old life. You'll cry because you'll remember that the glove no longer exists. Your life as it once was no longer exists, and that's a horrifying thing to consider. It's like thinking about death. Or what happens after death. Or how the universe is limitless but expanding at the same time. Something equally mind-boggling, paradoxical and terrifying. - ...but you'll also get inspired. A lot.
Chance meetings with strangers, for instance. A stranger can say one simple thing to change your perspective.
Maybe there's a reading so mercilessly opaque that the one sentence you understand, you know was meant only for you.
It could be sunlight streaming into your room on a day the forecast predicted nonstop rain. Perhaps the passion of the people around you awakens a dormant passion within you.
You become aware of not having much money, but you indulge in some things anyway.
You'll make lists, and you'll make plans. You'll alter the plans. You'll push down the thoughts about that good old glove of your old life, and how far you've come away from it. - You will be awakened and galvanized by a newfound autonomy.
You can explore a new place at any time. No one is watching you. You are anonymous until you choose not to be. You are in charge of your schedule; you govern your life and how it is managed.
A recently relocated NYC native. Enjoy this catalogue of my [mis]adventures as a newly minted Dubliner.