The Weight of Belonging: My Freshman Year Unpacked
August 4, 2024
Writer: Morgan Baskfield
Editor: Gretchen Quill
I could survive for days off of what I carry around campus in my North Face backpack. Stuffed with keys, chargers, electronics, and toiletries it was a crucial asset for my nomadic life freshman year of college— I wasn’t the biggest fan of my freshman dorm room, so I spent my days studying around campus and nights sleeping on friends’ floors. My backpack always came with, both a suitcase and a pillow. When I returned to my room, it was late and I would use my phone flashlight to get ready for bed. I slipped away early every morning, before campus was alive again. Some days, I felt as if I was both the first and last Vanderbilt student awake.
As a quintessential homebody, moving to college threw me off my axis. I struggled to meet my people, find my academic niche, and get accustomed to Nashville, which felt like a cheesy tourist town and made me ache for my suburban home. I felt so ill at ease that first year that I contemplated transferring, and worked on transfer applications when things got particularly stressful. I would sit in my dark room after returning at 2am, hunched over my computer and cranking out essays. Having this escape route was a survival mechanism for a turbulent year.
My nomadic lifestyle was indicative of more than just a dislike for my living situation—I refused to settle in because that would make it too tricky to leave if I ever needed to. My trusty North Face and I could beeline to the airport and get away from Vanderbilt at a moment’s notice. By remaining packed and ready to go, I was ready to start again at a new school if I really needed to. While this addressed temporary feelings of anxiety, it prevented me from trying to make this unfamiliar place a home.
My sophomore fall, a triple-whammy of a breakup, an overwhelming course load, and a broken arm meant that I lacked the motivation to leave my room much. This forced me to settle in, bit by bit. One day, I decided to hang up more pictures of family and home friends in my room to make it feel more homey, since I was spending so much time there. Slowly, I began to notice some delightful things that were only possible because I was, for once, staying in place. As I was living with a close friend, I realized how lovely it is to share a space with someone who brings you joy and how comforting their presence can be. Our relationship grew and our room started to feel like my sanctuary. Whether it was Olivia Rodrigo-fueled pregames, or quiet studying in our beds, I felt relaxed knowing she was right there, ready to provide a listening ear or a supportive word.
One night, I returned from the library at 4am to change, heart racing from traversing an eerily empty campus. I again wondered if I was the last Vanderbilt student awake, a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind in a while. With my flashlight on and ready, I slowly pushed open the door, but much to my surprise, the lights were on and my roommate was awake studying as well. She weakly waved at me, clearly sharing my misery. I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was.
Gradually, instead of being a visitor in other peoples’ rooms, which created ambiguity as to whether my presence was desired, people were coming to me to hang out. This could only happen, of course, because I was spending more time in my own space. My confidence in myself and my friendships was growing, and as I persevered through my fourth semester, I found myself excited to come home after class, using my space for both studying and relaxing. One by one, I accumulated so many happy memories in my space and at Vanderbilt as a whole that I felt filled to the brim with positive experiences.
The last night in that room before moving out I fought sleep as hard as I could, fearing the thought of missing a single second left in that space. Hearing my roommate toss and turn made my chest tight. This was the last night we would be living together, where I could hear her unwavering presence and feel safe knowing I was in a room with someone I loved. Whether it was coughing, singing, laughter, or soft footsteps, the sounds of this space I came to love so much would grow faint in my memory, and the space would no longer be ours.
I wished we could have just one more night, but along with that ache, I was warmed by the realization that this anticipatory sadness was a result of the love that I experienced every day. The love I felt for and from my roommate, friends, Vanderbilt, and Nashville— it all was built only through my persistence through difficult, lonely times. Even if it was unwilling at first, by setting my backpack down, I was able to transform a terrifying new place into a beautiful home.
