Lilly

My friends worry a lot about their “where”s. “Everyone wants to go to California for college, but that’s way too far away for me,” one tells me. “I was thinking about the East Coast, maybe Johns Hopkins or American, but I couldn’t do that to my family,” another says. And that’s fine.

I won’t lie—I’ve wondered time after time, wouldn’t I be just fine going to the university in my own hometown? It would be easier. I know my way around, I’d never have to miss my favorite places and local events, I could see my family, and friends who stayed in town, as often as I wanted. This place has been my home for almost 17 years and there’s a reason I’ve never questioned it.

At least not until recently. Not until I went to Ireland last summer and realized that there was nowhere in my hometown that could take my breath away anymore. Not until one of my friends spent a semester studying abroad in Sweden and came back with tall tales of Champions League watching parties and Swedish puns and frustrating classes. Not until I found that maybe I know my way around this place a little too well. And now I can’t help but wonder, would I really even have a chance at being happy here for another four years or more?

I feel guilty sometimes for not being satisfied at the thought of staying here. Almost everyone I know assures me that they’d be fine with it, even if it wouldn’t be their first choice. To me it feels like the easy way out. Four years of college, maybe grad school, find a job, live my life.

But I don’t want to settle. I guess my problem now is that I know where I am, but not where I’m going. I just know it’s not here. ♦