Tufts Blogs

My first-time visiting Massachusetts, let alone Tufts, was the day I flew into Logan Airport by myself to attend TWO, the Tufts Pre-Orientation program. I was born and raised in St. Petersburg, Florida with no real knowledge of the Northeast, snow, or subway systems. My decision to attend Tufts was predicated upon two things: (1) the combined degree program, which as an aspiring artist and an obnoxious history nerd, I was convinced would allow me to have the best of both worlds (I was right about this), and (2) the generous financial aid package that allowed me to attend Tufts. As a student from a low-income, single parent household, this second reason was what I knew would shape my opportunities for studying out of state, which was something I desperately wanted to do. So, I said goodbye to my family and I got on a plane to start my studies.

I found out quickly that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. But, in the midst of navigating unexpected bouts of homesickness, learning how the T works (Google Maps saved my life on multiple occasions), understanding that 40 degrees wasn’t actually that cold and I didn’t need to wear a parka for it (don’t laugh at me), and learning to write college essays (and learning how to ask for help on them), I (most importantly) also made friends. So, by the end of that first semester, I was watching the first snow fall while waiting for my 7am Uber back to Logan airport, texting my friends that I had made in Tufts Taekwondo, in Ethics Bowl, and in my art classes about their winter break plans and what we would all get up to when we got back to campus. It was hard to notice the changes in me at the time, but even just in that first semester I had gone from someone who was too shy to go to office hours to someone who, when my flight would get delayed for the third time later that day, would be comfortable striking up conversation with the person next to me (we still have each other on Instagram).

Now, as an Assistant Director of Admissions at Tufts, I often tell students that college is a bit of a 4-year existential crisis (5, in my case). I don’t say this to scare you—I say it because no one said it to me, and it would’ve been helpful to hear that I wasn’t supposed to have it all together at first. It’s okay to miss home, to be lost in Porter Square (it's close to Davis Square, but it is not the same place), or to ask for an extension on an essay. Growth comes from a healthy amount of discomfort, after all. Throw out your expectations that you won’t need help and support from the people around you and embrace the community here that’s ready to help you figure out who you want to be in the world, regardless of where you’ve come from and where you want to go next.