(8/2019) At the end of his life, a family friend made a
comment I will never forget. "You only get old," he said,
"when your world starts getting smaller." I think about
this often, as it is both a warning and a challenge to
those who wish to stay young (at heart). Our friend, an
active farmer through his late eighties, was advising us
to continue actively expanding ourselves, or, in other
words, to remain open to change.
The old cliché, "you can’t teach an old dog new
tricks," rings true in many cases I’ve seen, but my peers
and I, in our early twenties, have no such excuse. Change
supposedly comes naturally to the young as a part of
normal human development. The young not only adapt to
change, we actively seek it out. I, however, have never
been fond of the idea that the college years are years of
"experimentation," or, even worse, of "finding yourself"
by changing who you have always been. These philosophies,
I fear, lead a person closer to identity crisis than to
self-discovery and peace.
There must be a healthy balance between stubbornly
resisting change and flippantly forcing it for its own
sake. There must be a way to remain young without, to
reference yet another cliché, becoming reckless.
At the end of my senior year at Mount St. Mary’s, I
applied to a graduate assistantship at Villanova
University’s Office of Graduate Studies. During the
interview, one of the interviewers asked, "how do you
handle times of change?" While I admit this question was
unexpected, I’m glad she asked it, as it gave me the
opportunity to reflect on my own track record with change.
In response, I recounted my "plan" for my senior year of
college, which was to simply remain open to opportunities
as they arose. I was wary of over-planning and
over-preparing, ultimately forcing myself into a shoe that
didn’t fit – a life that was never meant to be mine.
Instead, I decided to (sheepishly) answer "I don’t know
yet," when people asked me what my plans were following
graduation. I decided to apply to every job with an
opening, to take the GRE over my Christmas vacation, and
to resist the urge to count myself out. I decided to trust
God to guide me to the right path. He did.
August 2019 will be a month of great change in my short
life. I will travel out of the country for the first time
on a week-long trip to Paris. I will attend my first
graduate-level English class with new professors, a new
university with new classrooms in new buildings and in a
new state. I will work my first day at a new job, and for
the first time change my official address from my
childhood home. The new and unknown are equally daunting
and exhilarating. Attempting new things leads to learning
new things about myself. I risk learning more about the
weaknesses I never knew I had, or failing at a task I have
never tried. I also risk realizing that there is room
within me to expand, adapt, and maybe even succeed.
I remember my first night on campus at Mount St. Mary’s
four years ago. As the oldest of four siblings, I was the
first to leave home, and I was homesick and afraid. I
couldn’t help thinking about the things I knew I would
miss: sitting at the dinner table hearing about my
sisters’ days at school; weekend dinners cooked
masterfully by my dad; the friendly faces of my high
school friends and neighbors. I remember staring at the
ceiling while lying in the dark on my Sheridan Hall
top-bunk dorm bed, choking back tears, wondering who I was
without the people I loved surrounding me each day.
Hard as that first night was, the next day I saw the
bright sunshine reflecting from the statue of Mary at the
Grotto for the first time, heard the musical toll of bells
that marks the hours on campus, and met the strangers who
would soon become my best friends. In short, I made the
Mount my home. There, I found more people to love, and I
soon allowed Mount St. Mary’s to leave her mark on my
mind, heart, and soul. Soon enough, I found myself missing
Mount St. Mary’s while I was home on school breaks, and
longing for classes to start again.
As a new school year approaches, I find myself
repeating that same cycle of fear, sadness, and excitement
that I went through four years ago. Doubts and
apprehensions fill my head: will living so far away from
my family cause me to lose touch with them? Will graduate
courses be impossible to keep up with? Will it be too
difficult to balance academics, work, spiritual life,
hobbies, and relationships? Will all the changes be too
overwhelming? What if I’m not smart enough, not good
enough to make it?
When my mind grows clouded with these doubts and
anxieties, there is a prayer I often turn to called the
Litany of Trust. One part of the prayer reads, "That not
knowing what the future holds is an opportunity to lean on
you, Jesus I trust in You." Simple as it may seem, this
prayer is powerful. It reminds me, in a moment of frantic
introspection, that my life is not entirely about me. God
is at the helm, guiding every step, watching as I make
mistakes, waiting for me to call for His grace.
With God’s help and the support of those whom I love, I
welcome the changes that August will bring. I welcome the
first-day-jitters and bashful introductions. I embrace the
inevitable missteps, and the growth that will follow. I
cherish the risk and the vulnerability of the newness to
come, the joys and the challenges I cannot yet foresee.
This August, my little world will get a little bit
bigger. Wish me luck!
