My Perfect Life

I remember one day when I was about six years old and on my way to daycare, I told my mom I couldn’t wait to be eighteen so I could be a grown up and live on my own. What a wishful thinking six year old I was, and already so full of teen angst. This past September, I moved over five hundred miles from home, I started college in a place where I knew no one, and I tried to convince myself it was what I wanted. All of my life, I had envisioned my perfect life after leaving home, the wonderful freedom and independent maturity that would come with it. That was not how it all turned out. After reading four months’ worth of stories in the course, “I Wish I Knew Then, What I Know Now,” I have come to find my sentiments are a common theme in literature.

She had known this road very well, it was five minutes from her house, and she had taken that turn many times before. Unfortunately, it just happened to be a coincidence that that morning, because of a missed alarm, a long shower, a forgotten lunch, or whatever reason Claire was ten minutes later than normal, she would fly around that corner and crash head on into a bus. By the time her death was confirmed, her “friends” who, earlier in the school year, had no meaningful relationship with her, came crawling out of the woodworks. Their posts about Claire on social media seemed more to say, “I know everyone is sad, but don’t forget about me and how sad I am, give me attention by favoriting this tweet.” Those same people packed the first seven rows in the funeral service, the ones reserved for “family and close friends,” and they all sobbed loudly together, while her true friends and family sat solemnly staring, still in disbelief. Surrounded by all these charlatans, was one person whose pain was more visible without tears, Cedric. In his short and wistful speech about Claire, his strained voice enunciated his grief more than his actual words. His heavy eyes told the crowd he hadn’t slept in days, and watching this old friend of mine face the earth-shattering pain of a lost first love broke my own heart. No one could ever know or guess when a terrible coincidence, like

I thought I was too resilient and independent to ever miss my home, my parents, my sisters, my dogs, and even my boring little hometown. I thought I would come to college and immediately find new best friends, and get so involved on campus, and spend every weekend giggling my drunken way back to my dorm with friends. Like every other major event in life, I expected college to be like a happy movie. I was very wrong. Trying to start my life from scratch at Wofford meant that I was pushed 500 hundred miles out of my comfort zone, and had to face my insecurities without the support of my friends and family. My pillow was tear stained from all the late nights in my dorm comparing myself to all the girls whose glittering smiles plastered my Instagram feed. I thought everything would be easy, but life in its spiteful manner proved me