During a recent campus visit, we sat through an insightful talk from an admissions officer who highlighted how the diverse backgrounds of students create a vibrant atmosphere. As I listened, I found myself nudging (okay, maybe nagging) my daughter to seize every opportunity that college has to offer.
She’s primarily looking at small liberal arts colleges, the very type I attended, so I’m constantly championing their virtues while she rolls her eyes. “Mom, I’m already sold on liberal arts schools,” she reassures me.
I could hardly contain my excitement at the thought of her diving into college life—sunny afternoons on the quad, losing herself in books beneath the trees, engaging in passionate late-night discussions, or singing along with friends to folk music.
As we strolled through the campus and peeked into dorms, I couldn’t resist pointing out colorful flyers for glee clubs and dance competitions, activities I know she’d adore but never had time for during high school. I also pointed out political clubs that far outnumber what her school offers back home.
“Yes, Mom, I see,” she said, gently swatting my hand away from yet another flyer while the tour guide spoke.
Honestly, my concerns about what she does in college are minor. She’s a go-getter with values I admire, and I trust she’ll make excellent choices wherever she goes. What I really feel is a twinge of longing for the days when I had so many options available to me—when I was the target audience for every colorful flyer shouting, “Choose me! Choose me!”
After the tour, we hurried home for my first choir rehearsal. The car ride was filled with our chatter—energized by Broadway hits—about her interest in the school’s renowned guest speakers, study abroad programs, and diverse student body. But as I stepped into choir practice, I was met with a wave of silver hair, cozy sweater sets, and polyester slacks. I couldn’t help but sigh. Where were the fresh ideas, the youthful idealism? Oh wait—this was my daughter’s new adventure, not mine.
As we began to sing, I was reminded of my long absence from choir. Sitting next to a woman who taught music at a local Christian school, I felt a spark of that diversity I craved. But with each note, I struggled to keep pace, my mind working harder than it had in years. Back in high school, I hadn’t missed a single day for eight years, but now, the syncopated rhythms felt like a math problem I wasn’t ready to solve.
An hour in, my eyes began to tire, squinting at the music, and I leaned closer to my neighbor to catch her pitch. The memories of my college days seemed to drift further away with every passing moment. I remember loading up on classes—philosophy, English, just enough French to get by abroad, and musical theater. I wanted to major in “Life,” and I became a jack-of-all-trades, tutoring in the writing center and helping other students navigate their struggles.
But looking at my life now, I realize it’s not all that different from my college years. As a freelance writer and editor, I’m constantly exploring new subjects and learning from a variety of clients. I teach writing occasionally, direct community theater, and am expanding my fitness instruction beyond yoga into senior aerobics and Zumba. I’m still majoring in Life, and I’ll always be a Jane-of-all-trades. By the end of the season, I even snagged a tiny solo in the choir’s performance. Perhaps college is about discovering what you love, and adulthood is about remembering to look for those flyers—or better yet, creating your own.
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In summary, while I cherish my daughter’s journey into college, I realize that I don’t need to relive my experiences through her. Instead, I can celebrate her adventures while continuing to seek my own vibrant life.