FRESHMAN JOURNAL
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"Leaving Home Isn't Something You Can Cross Off a 'To Do' List"

By Emily Kellogg, University of Toronto

The last few weeks before I left for college I spent at home making lists: what to bring, what to buy, what to begin--and what to finish. My days were chronicled on neon sticky post-its, and my future on yellow legal pads.

I worked on my what to bring list, sitting on the floor in the middle of my room. I literally had to push aside clothes and books to take my seat, and, as I did, the piles built up around me in a chaotic mess of colors and textures. Packing was a balancing act. One that required me to take stock of everything I owned (mainly by taking it from its drawer and throwing it on the floor) and prioritizing.

Going to school on the other side of the country (actually, in another country) came with a barrage of restrictions and a minefield of fees. Suddenly my prom dress and my favorite sweatshirt from freshman year meant no more to me than the extra weight they would add to my bags.

I worked on my "What to Buy" list in front of the computer. An Excel sheet told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was poor. Cosmetics and toiletries quickly added up to $165 a month, a coffee a day to $60--not to mention the staggering price of laundry detergent and health insurance.

For most kids my age, going to college is like opening a door to a icy wind of change--a little shocking, and likely to cause some whiplash. Suddenly little factors that seem to run along like clockwork require thought, effort--that morning coffee, texting a friend, having clean clothes to wear--suddenly the ticking of these small occurrences that make up a life have to be fought for and created by you, and you alone. Or so that Excel budget reminded me.

And so I worked on my list, unemotional and rational, life simplified to numeric values on a screen, my actions and purchases comfortably graphed out over monthly increments.

What to Begin was an effortless compulsion. Scrolling through my university's Web site, the possibilities were endless. Registering for classes, exhilarating. The list grew quickly, of its own accord, it seemed, on page after page of legal pad. Newspaper, radio, literary magazine, debating club, dance class--mere speculation suddenly took its place on my lists, which spanned from my wildest fantasies to my most attainable goals. Such is college, and such is life. Everything is beginning, everything is possible, and everything is a matter of personal and individual choice. And glancing over the five-page list of opportunities, I know that it could span many more pages, many more hours, and many more lifetimes.

What to Finish was more difficult. Initially, there was the obvious--finish up that article for my local paper, get my paycheck from my summer job, get that book I borrowed back to a friend--but then came the hard stuff. I suddenly realized the obvious: I wasn't just finishing a job and an internship, high school and ballroom dancing classes. I was finishing up a life, or part of one, at least.

And as I worked on my list, the step-by-step guide to living, I found myself unable to list the people I would miss or the things I would lose. How can you finish a childhood or a life-long friendship? Where does emotion, nostalgia or loss fit into the category of "Things to Do" before I leave?

The fact is, leaving home isn't something you can cross off a "to do" list. Finding closure isn't so easy. Tears? Check. Anxiety? Check. Excitement? Check. Exhaustion? Double check. And, in retrospect, I know that life isn't fueled by lists--lists are fueled by life. And life happens in the margins and outside of the lines.