One Year Later

A reflection on change after Year One of college

By Ella Tracy

There are four Ella’s in this story. 

There’s Little Ella. The Ella who made “cities” out of cardboard boxes for her kittens to make sure they were safe in the garage as they grew up. The fiery independent, carefree Ella who climbed pine trees in princess dresses and sold farm-fresh strawberries as a fundraiser and memorized fun facts about her Nubian dairy goats and wrote silly novels, knowing one day she would go to college to become something bigger than herself. 

There’s Last-Summer Ella. The Ella who cried during her graduation ceremony when her mother quoted her favorite Star Wars character. The Ella who was finally understanding who she was and who she wanted to become. The Ella who wrote fanfiction in her spare time and read books about social justice and loved her friends so deeply and grappled with a very real sense of loss as she prepared to move three states away from normal. 

There’s Present Ella. The Ella who is comfortable with the uncertainty and possibility in the future. The Ella who is slightly apprehensive about embracing an Economics major, applying for too many summer jobs and praying she’ll have time to read through her massive TBR. The Ella who is weary and worn, yet fiercely proud. 

And then there is Future Ella. The Ella who … 

All four Ella’s are writing this story.

My graduation ceremony (a very emotional time to be a nerd) and my 8.5 birthday.

Why? 

I hate getting stuck in the moment. 

The essay that I’ve been wracking my brain about for hours yet never gets beyond the first page. 

The math problem that makes no sense. 

The abstract idea floating around in my mind that I cannot convert to tangibility.

The stress of simply not knowing. 

When all I can see is the pain and frustration before me, I forget the big picture. I forget that the blank page and the confusion and the uncertainty are temporary. Sure, turning in the essay or finally figuring out the right combination of Excel functions might have been preluded by a few tears, but I did it.

I did it.

I did it.

Why? 

Why do it in the first place? 

That’s the question we’re all asking, isn’t it.

Perspective

I have a partial answer. 

Last-Summer Ella and Present Ella would have some fascinating conversations. Present Ella would vent her complaints and exhaustion that come from school and academia. Last-Summer Ella would listen in distress, but she would empathize. She would tell Present Ella to pause. She would remind Present Ella about all the things Last-Summer Ella was excited about: late nights with friends, challenging political discussions with the brilliant women in her classes, a new sense of fashion, being involved in government, exploring the Twin Cities. She would talk about the things she was nervous about: statistics class, finding her people, if she was making the right choice, if she would have enough time in the next four years to do everything that she hoped she could achieve.

Present Ella would smile and weep. 

Present Ella did. 

Present Ella would tell Last-Summer Ella about midnights crying from laughter with friends, every dance party, every classroom discussion, every exploratory sweater and skirt, her internship at the Minnesota State Capitol. Present Ella would show Last-Summer Ella the stupid and artistic pictures of her beautiful, chaotic, morphing friend groups. Present Ella would proudly present her A in Statistics, reminisce about orientation week, chuckle about the strange attachment to this school (even though it vexes her sometimes). And Last-Summer Ella, knowing both the beauty and the struggle, would be all the more excited to begin the new chapter.   

I wonder what Future Ella and Present Ella will talk about. 

I like to believe Future Ella will be grateful that Present Ella learned that it’s okay to not have a plan, to simply follow what feels right and see where that leads her. I hope Future Ella will still be slightly bitter about the occasional stupid essay Present Ella had to write, but she probably won’t even remember what they were about. Future Ella will remember the hours of work that went into the research papers Present Ella is ridiculously proud of. 

And she’ll remember the golden moments with her community. 

So why academia, I ask? 

I do this to make Little Ella proud. 

I do this to carry on Last-Summer Ella’s evolving vision and live in the reality that she longed for. 

I do this so Present Ella is challenged, in every sense of the word. 

I do this for Future Ella so she can write whatever story she likes. 

Little Ella

Little Ella started out wanting to be a veterinarian. Then she wanted to be a writer. Now that would become her entire personality for basically the rest of her life, but she didn’t know that yet. She entertained the idea of being a professional speaker, then an astrophysicist, perhaps a horse trainer. But no matter which role she chose, Little Ella led and influenced (cliché, I know, but fate is fate). 

Little Ella read books every day. Sometimes, she would get in trouble for reading her books instead of doing her schoolwork. She got sunburned from sitting outside for hours with a book. She read stories about dragons, grandiose adventures, cheesy romance, powerful magic and determined heroes. Because of Warrior Cats and Eragon and Hermione and Star Wars, she created a story for herself too. 

When Little Ella wrote her story, she was the hero. She and her friends adventured to save the day. They were smart, goofy and creative. They fell in love. They were independent. They lived vibrant, wild, unpredictable lives. 

Those stories are the reason why Little Ella and Present Ella’s conversation would be the most emotional. 

If Little Ella got a glimpse into Present Ella’s life, I think she would blow a fuse from sheer amazement. 

I’m living in and creating the dream that Little Ella wrote about. So whenever motivation is nonexistent or frustration overwhelms progress or there are a few days stuffed full of adversity, I think of the little girl who dreamed with such hope. 

Little Ella, you would be so excited to see who you have become.

Grown

College changes people. There’s no way to experience a year in rigorous academia with totally different social norms and new friends in a new city and come out the same person you were when you started. 

One year of college has altered my brain chemistry. In some ways, I’ve matured. In others, I remain stubbornly carefree and silly. I’m less scared of my voice, of my power, of experience. I’ve gained perspective and identified what I don’t know. I’ve gotten ridiculously good at playing Fantasy Football but with course schedules on my Degree Evaluation. I’m still exploring who I am, but I’ve learned to be okay not knowing for certain. 

Somehow, two semesters moved at a snail’s pace and vanished in the blink of an eye. So I look back to past versions of myself to see and appreciate and be proud of my growth. I look ahead with eager anticipation to see that growth compounded. 

Don’t discredit the changes you’ve experienced. Don’t forget perspective. Don’t give up. Don’t forget why you’re here or what your goals are. Make little you proud. 

But remember, you still have so much time. Use it well.