College, Change, and What Comes Next 

At some point, you have to stop counting how many times you've started over and start asking what all those beginnings have taught you.

I've been to college three times.

And now I'm going again.

If I were looking only at the number of attempts, I could easily tell myself that I should have finished by now. I could look at the times I stopped, the things that got in the way, and the plans that didn't work out. I could decide that maybe college just isn't something I'm meant to finish.

But this time feels different.

This time, I'm determined to finish.

I'm not going back because I suddenly became a completely different person who has everything figured out. I'm going back because I've lived more life. I've learned more about myself. I've made mistakes, started over, changed direction, and discovered that giving up on something doesn't always mean you're finished with it.

Sometimes you need time before you're ready to complete something you started years ago.

There is something humbling about returning to a goal you once walked away from. It means admitting that the first attempts didn't work. It means facing the possibility that other people might wonder why you're trying again.

But I've reached a point where other people's opinions don't matter as much as they once did.

I know what it feels like to look at something unfinished and wonder what might have happened if I had kept going. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering about college. I want to know what happens if I actually finish.

That's the difference this time.

I'm not trying to prove that I never failed. I'm trying to prove to myself that failure doesn't have to be the final answer.

The same thing has happened in other areas of my life. I've moved four major times. The first time was when I left my parents' house and eventually had to move back. Then I left for the Army. After getting out of the Army, I moved from Virginia Beach to Baltimore with the man who would become my husband. When that marriage ended, I moved from Baltimore to Central New York to be closer to my sister.

I've now lived in Central New York for thirteen years.

Sometimes thirteen years feels like proof that I've finally put down roots. Other times, I wonder whether another move might be somewhere in my future.

That question brings up a lot of emotions because I've spent so much of my life starting over. There is a part of me that wonders whether I'm always going to be searching for something different. Whether I'll ever reach a point where I can simply say, "This is it. I'm staying."

But maybe that's the wrong question.

Maybe the question isn't whether I will ever change again. Maybe it's whether the next change comes from running away from something or moving toward something.

There is a difference.

I've learned that sometimes we make major changes because we are hurting and desperately need to escape. Other times, we make changes because we've grown and realize that the life we once wanted isn't necessarily the life we want anymore.

I don't always know which one I'm feeling.

And that's okay.

I don't have to make every decision today. I don't have to know where I'll live five years from now. I don't have to know exactly what my next chapter will look like before I'm allowed to turn the page.

For now, I have something in front of me that matters: finishing college.

This time, I want to give myself the opportunity to see it through. I want to experience what it feels like to finish something that I've started more than once. I want to be able to look back and say, "I finally did it."

Not because the degree will magically fix everything.

Not because finishing college will erase the other things I've struggled with.

But because sometimes finishing something matters simply because you once thought you couldn't.

I've spent a lot of my life believing that starting over meant I was behind. When I saw other people moving forward while I was changing direction, I sometimes wondered why my life couldn't just be easier. Why did I have to figure things out through trial and error? Why did I have to learn some lessons more than once?

I don't have perfect answers to those questions.

What I do know is that every version of my life has taught me something.

The girl who moved out of her parents' house taught me that independence doesn't always go according to plan.

The woman who joined the Army taught me that I could leave what was familiar and survive somewhere completely different.

The woman who moved for a marriage taught me that building a life around another person doesn't guarantee that the life will last.

The woman who left that marriage taught me that starting over can be painful and still be the right thing to do.

The woman who moved to Central New York taught me that sometimes going back to the people who know you best can help you find yourself again.

And the woman going back to college for the fourth time is learning something else: it isn't too late to finish what I started.

Maybe that is what starting over has really been about for me all along.

It hasn't been about creating an entirely new life every time something went wrong. It has been about taking what I've learned from the life I had and deciding what I want to carry into the next one.

I don't know whether I'll stay in Central New York forever. I don't know exactly where college will take me. I don't know what relationships, opportunities, challenges, or changes are waiting around the corner.

For once, I'm trying not to treat not knowing as something I need to fear.

There is freedom in realizing that I don't have to have the entire story figured out before I begin writing the next page.

I've started over before.

I'll probably start over again in some form.

And maybe that's not a flaw in me.

Maybe it's simply part of being a person who is still growing.

The American Psychological Association describes resilience as adapting to difficult experiences and notes that resilience can be cultivated over time. Looking at my own life, I can see that more clearly now. I didn't become stronger because everything worked out. I became stronger because I kept having to figure out what to do when it didn't.

So this time, I'm not looking at my past attempts as proof that I can't finish.

I'm looking at them as proof that I'm still willing to try.

I'm going back to college.

I'm still here.

I'm still growing.

And I still have places to go, things to learn, and stories to tell.

My past is a chapter, not the whole story. I've already rewritten more than one chapter of my life, and I don't think I'm finished writing yet.