I’ve always thought fall was an absurd time for academic years to begin. The dawn of a new school year, the new beginnings, new people to meet– the whole atmosphere of a fresh start lends itself perfectly to the season of spring, with blossoming buds on trees, nature slowly coming to life, and a chance at reinvention. Fall immediately brings to mind warmth and the comfort of home, with the winds cooling down, and the world retreating back to all things familiar. Yet, academic years are structured such that students are forced to face foreign environments right when we need something stable and routine. The transition between school to college for the first-years, and the move back in for the upperclassmen are both brutal in their own ways. The first-years are inundated with so much “newness”, and the upperclassmen not looking forward to having to come back to the rush of work from the trimester system and all the extracurriculars, coupled with the swift autumn that upstate New York offers. Speaking from experience, the first couple weeks were rough, the homesickness, unfamiliar faces in the crowds, and having all the time in the world while simultaneously having no time at all led to this weird feeling of crowded isolation. There were people, but nobody I recognized. There was a bed and a room with my stuff in it, but it wasn’t home. As the days drew by though, I could slowly put faces to names, I had people I could smile at walking around campus, and the posters on my wall gave me a semblance of comfort. I started feeling at home, that oddly loaded word, and I thought of how my transition would change coming back next year. I assume it would be perhaps smoother, having a routine to come back to instead of having to invent one as I go along, having a second family here, perhaps? It would still be annoyingly difficult, I’m sure, but maybe a bit more painless. The gorgeous sunset Nott-shots, the life-saving wraps at Dutch, and bustling through the Olin-Wold-ISEC pathway will slowly become little bits that I look forward to coming back to as I feel the winds slowly cooling down, and the leaves falling. So while the transition is certainly dismal and painful, a push towards instability when we need constancy the most, there is a beauty in crafting new routines and building a permanence of sorts– new memories, new comforts, and a new definition of home that slowly feels like it was always there.
