Think about how you felt when you first moved to college. Think about all of your anxieties, hopes, and expectations. Think about how you thought it would be perfect.
Now imagine you hated it and left.
That’s what it’s like to be a transfer student at a new school.
I spent most of my freshman year at American University in my room, splitting time between video games, Scrubs, and The Office. When I did leave my room, it was almost always to spend time with my then girlfriend, who struggled with many of the same problems that I did. When February rolled around, I realized I had few friends and even fewer fond memories of college. I needed to leave.
By transferring to Georgetown, I had a chance to start over. I told myself that I had an advantage—my past mistakes were now avoidable. Before I came in August, I thought I had it all figured out. However, starting over was harder than I expected.
After settling into my dorm, I met my all-transfer orientation group. We shared stories about our old colleges during “break the ice” activities. I was surprised to learn that our group was comprised of students with a wide variety of backgrounds, spanning from community colleges to the Ivy League. But as others described how they ended up at Georgetown, few of which were as pathetic as mine, I struggled to explain myself. I didn’t want to tell them that my freshman year left me broken or that I was terrified about repeating my mistakes. So, I lied.
When I met strangers those first few days, I told them that I left for “academic reasons.” I’d laugh, telling them that I studied International Affairs, but left to get a “well-rounded, liberal arts education.” I needed to be challenged, I’d say with an air of satisfaction in my voice. In short, I was an ass.
As orientation continued, I loosened up. I went on a boat ride on the Potomac River with other transfers, where I was a bit more honest with others about my first year of college. But I still left out the parts about my loneliness and depression.
Looking back, it seems obvious that I was embarrassed to be a transfer student. I felt that leaving one school for another was a sign of defeat; I didn’t want to admit that I had made a serious mistake. I associated it with a stigma that made me feel second-rate.
It took me months to shake that nonsense. When I met others, I assumed that any questions about my freshman year were meant to dredge up something humiliating. Truth is, I was just a lonely, lame teenager; there was no deep, dark explanation.
Filing into McDonough—scratchy robe and all—at the end of the orientation weekend, I still felt tentative about Georgetown. I still hadn’t revealed why I left AU, and I was awfully tempted to skip the rest of orientation to be alone. Thankfully, I didn’t. Over the next few days, I tried my damnedest to avoid the mistakes I made the first time around. I stayed out of my room. I fought the urge to feel sorry for myself. I even joined a club or two along the way. Without realizing it, I began to settle into life at Georgetown.
Months later, I was in the Shenandoah Valley, training to be an Outdoor Education trip leader. As I hiked in the darkness with a dozen others, I began to tell a friend how I ended up at Georgetown. In that moment, in the frigid wind at two in the morning, miles away from Washington, I was honest.
“I transferred because I hated who I was, where I was, and how it all happened.”
I never lied about it again.
When Convocation starts on Friday, a few thousand people will shuffle into McDonough Gym. A few will wear robes. Many will wear itchy gowns. But for some, it will seem vaguely familiar.
Convocation isn’t just a start for them. It’s a second chance.
Thanks for this post. Stuff like this is hard to write but I wish more people would do it.