As we pulled into her college town yesterday afternoon, I found myself thinking about the first time we visited the school. How she lit up and loved it so. How I could picture her there. How beautiful it looked. How it felt large compared to her high school, but not too large for her.
She’s been there for nearly two years. And she is hoping this will be her final six weeks there. She’s grown by leaps and bounds. She’s outgrown the place that once seemed to be a perfect fit. She’s wants to finish her studies at a larger university where she finds more diversity, more rigor, more opportunities.
We unloaded her bags into her apartment and drove back to the center of campus, to the short block on the edge of campus where there are a handful of restaurants. It’s charming. It’s comfortable. It’s small. She’s grown beyond it. I see it now.
We walked past the restaurant where we’d eaten lunch the first time we’d visited, choosing one around the corner this time. As we waited for our meals, she talked about the things she’d loved and the things she’s seeking now. She’s grown. It doesn’t feel so right for her anymore. I understand.
She’s grown. She’s set a goal. She’s going after it. She’s waiting to hear.