jennifer-roberts Have you ever wanted to try something new or take a risk, but fear, the prospect of pain or overthinking prevented you from taking a leap of faith? I have!
In the fall of 1995, I was a green, yet eager, freshman at Clark Atlanta University. I was thrilled to leave home and begin this new chapter of my life. I had never been away from my family and could not wait to chart my own course.
When I arrived at the freshman residence hall, my excitement soared as I took in the sights and sounds of the bustling campus. I looked forward to meeting new people, studying journalism and making choices about how I socialized, how I spent my discretionary money and even what I ate for dinner.
I was enthusiastic about creating an identity for myself that was not based on the family I had been born into or the expectations set for me by other people. For the first time in my life, I had the ability to choose who I wanted to be and how I wanted to move in the world.
I adjusted quickly to the workload and academic expectations as I was accustomed to waking myself up for school, attending classes, studying, and managing my time effectively. The social aspect on the other hand, is what presented the biggest challenge. And ironically, this is the element that I was most anticipating.
Sadly, despite my most diligent efforts, I could not adapt because I lacked the social skills that seemed to come so easily to my peers. I felt like a fish out of water, and I was miserable.
Other freshmen seemed to quickly find common ground with one another, make friends, talk, laugh and just hang out effortlessly. I, on the other hand, struggled to initiate a meaningful conversation let alone make a friend.
Despite a rough start, I remained optimistic as I set about the business of finding my niche. I can’t remember if I joined any clubs, but I do recall being friendly and approachable. There were two young ladies with whom I got acquainted, one from New Jersey and the other from Ohio but I never had a real connection with either of them. They were nice enough and so was I but our conversations were superficial at best. For the most part, I stayed to myself, attended classes and on a few occasions took the Marta to the Underground, a local shopping center.
When my father dropped me off at school, he gave me a few hundred dollars to cover my expenses during the semester. While I tried to stretch the money, it didn’t last long after purchasing incidentals, food, getting my hair done a time or two and doing laundry.
I got a part-time job at a local Taco Bell to make money but after about three days I decided that working in the fast-food business was not for me. I also felt ashamed about working because my roommate was a real- life Whitley Gilbert, the pampered princess from the 1990’s sitcom, “A Different World,” sans the southern accent. I felt inferior and for the first time in my life, I was jealous.
As September faded into October, my mother and stepfather came to visit me which was a welcome interaction. It felt good to see familiar faces.
As homecoming approached, I was still suffering socially but hadn’t given up hope. I decided to compete for a position in the homecoming court. I was intelligent, poised and articulate. I believed that I could win. I saw myself representing my school and thought that if I did win, that would be the turning point in my first semester social experience.
I made it to the final round of the competition but did not claim the crown. A young lady from New Jersey was selected. My heart sank but I smiled and clapped cordially. Inside, I felt hurt and defeated. My positivity was waning.
Days turned into weeks as I went about my daily routine of attending classes during the day, studying, and watching television in the afternoons. I went to bed early and my weekends were boring blurs of nothingness. Every week, I repeated the same routine.
I remember being excited about going home for Thanksgiving vacation. My mom and stepfather had purchased an airline ticket for me. It was chilly but not cold as I left campus walking toward the Marta station. One of my professors saw me and offered me a ride to the airport.
I must’ve looked pitiful; I felt pitiful. In 1995, I may have weighed 100 pounds at the most. I was lugging my Dad’s large, army green, duffle bag that held my belongings and an over-sized white canvas laundry bag full of dirty clothes. I didn’t have money to wash them on campus, so I was taking them home. My professor delivered me to the airport where I boarded my flight to Baltimore-Washington Airport.
I enjoyed my brief break but dreaded returning to campus to complete the semester. I shared my overwhelming sadness with my mother who said to me, “Give it time. Give it another semester. It’ll get better.” I did not believe her.
It’s not that I didn’t Clark Atlanta University or Atlanta. I loved them both or in retrospect, I loved the idea of what they represented, freedom and possibility. But the reality of the experience was nothing like I thought it would be; it was a nightmare. I was not prepared to do something so hard, and I did not feel equipped or supported to accept the challenge.
I am a planner but somewhere in all of my planning for college and fantasizing about what it would be like, it never occurred to me that my social ineptitude would be the source of my discontent.
I didn’t have a boatload of friends in high school, but I had friends and I had acquaintances. I did not experience social rites of passages that other teenagers seemed to experience like hanging out at the mall with friends, going to dinner at Friday’s, attending or hosting sleep overs and dating. When I got to college, I thought I would make friends and make up for lost time. Wrong! I didn’t have a clue about how to operate in unstructured social settings with my peers. Other people made it look so easy but I just couldn’t get the hang of it.
I pushed through the last few weeks of the semester after Thanksgiving break. I was emotionally drained and looked forward to Christmas vacation. My Dad was coming to pick me up and I couldn’t wait. My roommate had already left as had most of the other people in my residence hall. I was alone and restless. I waited for hours until finally my dad rescued me. We drove home that night.
During my Christmas vacation, I rested. My first night home, I slept more peacefully than I had in months. My time at home wasn’t anything extraordinary but it was comfortable and familiar, like a well-worn pair of sweatpants or a fuzzy bathrobe. I spent time with my family and my boyfriend who was attending a different college but was also home on Christmas vacation. Everything was familiar, even the dysfunctional parts. I didn’t have to search for my place in this world that I knew so well and I savored its comforting familiarity.
My vacation had gone by too quickly and to my dismay, the time for me to return to school was fast approaching. I was not looking forward to it but I knew that I had to go.
Just around the time my Dad and I were supposed to drive back to Atlanta, there was a winter storm that blanketed our area. Jackpot! The storm gifted me a few more days at home; a few more days to be comfortable. Days turned into weeks and I did not return for the spring semester. My mother inquired often about when I was returning to school. I felt that she was frustrated and maybe even disappointed when she didn’t get an answer that made sense.
Some time after the snow had melted my Dad and I drove to Atlanta to retrieve my belongings. The spring semester was well underway but my time at Clark Atlanta University had ended. I felt relieved.
I went back to the room that I shared with my roommate. My roommate wasn’t there but my belongings were exactly where I’d left them. 1996 was before the time of social media and widespread cell phone use. There was no text message to send, selfie to take or Instagram post to make. There were no good-byes. This was the last time I’d step foot on the campus of Clark Atlanta University
Fast forward 25 years. I am now 43 years old. Despite losing a semester, I enrolled at a local university in the fall of 1996, graduated on time and earned a B.S. in Communications from Bowie State University. I’ve worked in public relations, the non-profit sector and education. I’ve been married to the love my life for 18 years and I have the privilege of mothering our two amazing children. I am a professional volunteer, children’s book author, mentor, community educator and blogger.
I have experienced success and I have had my share of disappointments. Through it all, the one and only regret that I have in life is not completing my college education at Clark Atlanta University. I am disappointed that I did not heed my mother’s simple yet sage advice, “Give it another semester. It’ll get better.”
My mother knew something in 1995 that I that I didn’t. She knew that I could do it. She believed in me when I could not believe in myself. I could have benefited from her wisdom if only I had trusted her words. If only I had listened. If I had returned in the spring of 1996, I could have taken full advantage of the opportunity that God was presenting at the time; the opportunity to get out of the boat and walk on water.
I can imagine the way Peter must have felt in Matthew 14: 22-33, on that early, dark morning when Jesus beckoned him on the Sea of Galilee. I can envision Peter’s eagerness to take a risk, to try something new and to believe Jesus’ words. I can imagine the excitement and fear that Peter must have felt when he wrestled with the idea of staying in the boat or walking on the water with Jesus.
Peter chose to do what few people have the courage to do. He got out of the boat. He believed, trusted, and moved.
The idea of walking on water sounds good but the decision to get out of the boat can be paralyzing. Choosing to leave comfortable and familiar surroundings can be terrifying but it is a necessary choice if we want to walk on the water. To do the seemingly impossible, we, like Peter must believe, trust, and move.
I often think about how different my college experience may have been had I returned to Atlanta in the spring of 1996. I think about the variety of classes I could have taken and the lifelong friendships I may have eventually forged. I often wonder if I would have pledged a sorority. I wonder if my family and I would make an annual trip to Clark Atlanta University for homecoming. I lament the opportunities I missed like attending the 1996 Olympics which were held in Atlanta or the possibility of working at CNN which is headquartered in Atlanta. I also think about the 2002 movie “Drumline” and the pride that I would have felt knowing that parts of the movie were filmed at my alma mater. I think about what could have been if only I had had the courage to believe, trust and move.
My saving grace is that the story of my life is still being written and that God is still presenting me with opportunities to get out of the boat and walk on water. God wastes no experience and while I regret not finishing my college education at Clark Atlanta University, I learned from that experience and have been empowered to make wiser choices.
I am motivated to look for God in the darkness, just like Peter did. I am energized to believe Him, to trust Him and to move when He says move even when the journey is isolating, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
Do you want to walk on water? Do you want to experience what seems impossible? Believe, trust, move. You can walk on water but first you have to get out of the boat.
I failed to consider that the other students who and absorbed the for an extended period of time and was an introvert.
If we are truthful, we’ve all stayed in the boat at one time or another in our lives. The boat represents that which is familiar. It can be a place safety, reliability, or simply our normal.
