Back in elementary school, I was never able to fall asleep the night before the first day of school. I would race to the bus every morning, and once in class, I would thrust my hand up in the air and jolt it from left to right, up and down, whenever the teacher asked a question. Yes, I was one of those kids.
I was the girl who would read the same Beverly Cleary books over and over again, ran laps around the outside of the playground during recess, and wore black and neon green, plastic, Wayfarer sunglasses at school for about a month in the third grade for lack of the glasses that I wanted but didn’t actually need.
I may have been strange, but sometime between then and now, I grew up – just like we all did. Maybe it was because I actually came to need some real glasses, decided to run cross-country, or took a liking to my English classes. And somehow, someone here at Northwestern was convinced of this transformation as well…
Which puts me here: an incoming freshman and a proud member of the class of 2012, without a clue as to what to bring, what classes to take, or even where to live/eat once I get to campus. Sure, I’m nervous, really stressed out, and a little scared about what will happen come September, but more importantly, I’m excited about the challenges and adventures that await me throughout the rest of this summer and into the fall.
I’ve already faced a few of them from 300 miles away. Though I have grown out of the nerdy-freaky kid that I once was, the part of me that has always been overly eager and anxious still remains. This time, instead of doing a face plant on my way down the driveway to catch the school bus – as frequently happened during grade school – my excitement did, among other things, cause me to write the wrong information in the wrong blank spaces on both my housing and tuition deposit forms. I called the Admissions office in a panic, asking, basically, if I could still attend Northwestern. I think that got me bumped to some kind of special list, or something.
As if that didn’t have me feeling undeserving enough, I spent a good three hours trying to download the NU Symantec Security system for my laptop; in actuality it takes all of 30 minutes, maybe even less. It turns out that while I will be living “on-campus” in the fall, when commanded during the installation process, I should have chosen “off-campus” because the Panera Bread Co. wireless Internet in North Canton, Ohio is not the Elder residence hall in Evanston, Illinois (oh, but how I wish it was). I really do owe my first-born, or at least a pint of blood, to the guys in the technical support center.
Once all that was up and running and life was pure bliss and happiness, they sent out the housing information. Fantastic, right, but they didn’t send it to me. You see, since I am on the aforementioned special list, Northwestern no longer communicates with me. Not a problem though. I got it off of the Internet, filled it out, sent it in, and then began to worry. You see, for me, worrying is not just a speciality, it’s an art. I’m absolutely fantastic at it. I rock the worrying world. Some little, plaid-jumper-and-sunglasses wearing, 8-year-old voice inside my head told me that there was a reason, and probably not a good one, and probably related to my messing up the housing deposit form, that I did not receive the housing registration packet. Even though after a week or so, I realized that it probably wasn’t that big of a deal, I still put a very concerned call in to the Housing Department to make sure that they weren’t scamming all the kids whose inner 8-year-old was too hopped up on pixie sticks and green Kool-Aid to read the directions. Turns out, despite the confusion, they didn’t kick me out.
While I may not be the best at filling out forms, downloading software, or keeping calm, I’m sure to be one of many in the struggle to break out of the controlled high school environment and into the spontaneous, faced-paced almost-real world of college. Maybe you all think I’m crazy (I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the sunglasses), or that I have bigger problems than can be solved by a degree from Northwestern.
Even if that is the case, we are all headed down the same road, with the same destination in mind. For the time being, during the longest summer of all of our lives, I will be your guide as we prepare to stumble blindly toward our futures.
Hallie Busta
Class of 2012