Winter break freshman year induces a disorienting regression. Back in Pennsylvania, I was tucked in the warmth of my queen-sized bed in my single suite, sipping the overly sweet coffee that sustained me all throughout high school. 

Home evokes an ambivalent feeling of comfort, a stark contrast from the pervasive distress that characterized my first semester. I indulged in the luxury of feeling like myself again, but I ultimately realized that I existed in an ambiguous Schrodinger’s state. Home brings about the reemergence of my past self — but is it right to designate this shell of an identity as “myself ” when I’ve evolved so much over the past five months? 

The delicate web of identity is constructed from values and expectations in tension with one another, and the anxiety that persists in the face of such major change has the power to tangle it all up in one fell swoop. The shock of adjustment that naturally accompanies the beginning of college fractures our sense of who we are, and the need to understand ourselves can lead us to chase familiarity to regain a former sense of defined identity. 

At home, it’s concerningly easy to fall back into old patterns, shedding myself of everything I gained in college for the comfort the past affords.

I laugh with the people that I refer to in college as “old” friends, as if I’ve outgrown them in the span of five months. I beg my mom for Auntie Anne’s at the mall, as if the $5 pretzel is of any financial significance under the high-ticket shadow of my tuition. I run our weekly errands on Main Street, as if I’m still a fixture of this town and not just a visitor. 

A little voice in my head reminds me that this life is no longer my reality but merely a fleeting moment. The impostor syndrome that haunts me on campus followed me back home, permeating the very haven meant to relieve me of the tribulations of adapting to college. Clearly, the purity of my past life has been tainted by personal uncertainty and hypocrisy. Why, then, is it so hard to let it go? 

The past holds every relationship we’ve built, every mistake we’ve made, every lesson we’ve learned. It would be foolish to ignore the insight that our history can impart on us. 

But as much as we have to remind ourselves not to get stuck in the past, it’s equally important to remember not to get blindsided by the future. Just as I pine for the past because of the comfort it offers, others pine for the future because of the optimism it promises. 

We are suspended in the sensitive position known as the present. And this is the only place where we have the power to exercise our autonomy to its fullest extent. The now — a delicate moment in the face of movement and change — is the only place where we have stable footing to grow. Unfortunately, no one wants to face today because the present is neither illusory nor defined, and is thus not subject to the fantastical contortions of our imagination or the nostalgia of our memories. 

Regardless of the differences that polarize us, as college students, we remain united in at least one experience: this unique transitional phase that will inevitably give rise to feelings of deep unsettlement as we challenge ourselves academically, socially and ideologically. Survival within this shark tank is onerous enough; we shouldn’t force ourselves to conform to one identity or another. It’s okay to lounge in this state of in-betweenness for a while — in fact, it’s often where we achieve the most growth. 

So recognize the value of the now, for being present frees you from the shackles of an identity grounded in the past and releases you to the endless possibilities for change in the future. I’ve gotten more real-world exposure in a semester at college than I’ve ever experienced before, and questioned so many parts of my identity that I’ve never had reason to question before. And as uncomfortable as it is, grappling with these new certainties-turned-uncertainties and desperately trying to piece myself together from mismatched parts simply to feel whole again, I’ve come to realize that these are temporary growing pains that I will come to look back upon fondly like I do to my past now. 

Christina Suh is a first-year in the School of Foreign Service. Identity In Depth is published every other week.