“Turn around, Dad,” I called from the back seat half-jokingly.
“Mira, we are too far to turn around now; just be open to seeing it,” he reassured me, and I trusted him. Even at the ripe resistant age of 18, I was fortunate to have enough sense to realize maybe, just maybe, my dad knew what he was talking about. Well, that, and that seeing it did not mean I had to enroll there.
Where was there? The University of Vermont—a place I’d never been and knew little about other than that my sister-in-law said it was beautiful and I had two buddies applying there as well. And so with that, it made its way into the application pile. After all, isn’t that how the pool of potential schools comes together for an adolescent? With so many colleges and universities to choose from, how would you ever know you found the right one? And yet, in my case, the right one found me.
I settled into the backseat knowing that we had a little ways to go; 3 hours down and 1 to go. My mind filled with adolescent dreams, ideas, questions, and fears about the world after high school. However, if it meant being out on my own, it was a world I couldn’t wait to get to! It’s only age and experience that helps us later to look back and wish we’d slowed down the growing up process. But that wasn’t me at 18, I was always full speed ahead.
Looking out the window at the fields that characterize the southern portion of Interstate 89, I was struck by the small towns and dairy cows. Having grown up in a suburb that felt all too ordinary to me now, I wasn’t envisioning myself moving to the hillside, which is what I was beginning to assume Vermont meant. Sure, it was pretty, but what would I do in a town with two churches, a general store, a few friendly neighbors and endless farmland? This was not the big world I was supposed to be stepping into. Feeling let down by the sights around me, I started to rethink the other schools I’d already seen. I wondered why I didn’t feel at home on the campus of Boston University—that was supposed to be the one! While there, a college freshman had to make the comment, “you must picture yourself living, day-to-day, on the college campus of the school you attend”. Against my will, my immediate response to his excellent advice was “this isn’t it”. And so, that “this isn’t it” feeling seemed to characterize all but 2 of the 8 schools I was accepted into, and those 2 hadn’t been visited just yet, one of which was located north on Interstate 89 in the “city” of Burlington, Vermont.
I can’t say I remember exactly my first impression of the city that became the background for my rite of passage. When my parents and I arrived, it was night, we had eaten dinner and checked into our room; not leaving much time for my parents to wonder downtown and show me the sights. However, my buddy, Mike, who was also up for Admitted Students Day and staying in the same hotel, knocked on the door and suggested we drive down to Church Street and the waterfront. Amidst the familiarity of a friend who had grown up in the same neighborhood as me, separated only by a field we could cut through to make the 20 minute walk a 5 minute one, I discovered a new town.
The feeling wasn’t entire certainty, just the slight shift and change of heart where you feel yourself becoming open to a possibility that you didn’t necessarily pick for yourself nor expect. That was my first time encountering such transition. My life before that had always been mostly predictable, set in the walls of a home I’d known all my life, having to face the challenges that seem big to a child but always with the underlying guidance and instruction of supportive parents (like it or not). However, this decision of where to go next was mostly mine, and leant itself to innumerable ways of influencing my character, my friendship, my values…I had better make the right choice.
When I was 18, I saw black and white, right or wrong, to be or not to be. I hadn’t learned to appreciate that feeling that I knew for the first time that night on Church Street—the shift to openness and allowing things to happen as they will without a predetermined picture of what an experience should be. That lesson has taken me nearly a decade to learn; and still involves intention on my part. It can be difficult to free oneself and flow with this human experience on Earth in the face of a society that emphasizes the right school for the right career track for the right financial situation to buy you that right house with the right guy and perfect children. Career translates to “race track” in Latin; it’s taken me a number of years to realize I don’t want to be on any prescribed societal track. I want to walk freely, to stop and reflect, to take note of the many directions life could take me, and choose one without having to look back and worry that the road I chose has taken me too far from “the path”. That lesson has unfolded itself to me in time, largely due to the majestic scenery Vermont offers where there are plenty of nature’s playgrounds for you to explore, allowing you to put distance between yourself and the constant shuffle so you might actually have a moment to ask yourself, “Why am I here? And what do I want for myself?”
My love affair with the wondrous place that is Vermont is difficult to detail. It involves a precious collection of moments, people, ideologies, and so many firsts…
Vermont has taught me to be aware of the present moment and to surrender myself to life’s experiences, to take the chances that will expand myself in ways I cannot imagine. Vermont has taught me what it means to find home. And home is a place you can always come back to after venturing out for days, weeks, months, or even years at a time. Knowing what else is out there, is what makes home, home—the place where your heart is most full and at peace.
