I doubt I’ll be the first to admit that Columbia’s weather is quite frightening at times. I have yet to find another city where the sun will filter through from the north side of the sky while blackened rain clouds rumble in from the south, and if I step just to my left, I feel snowflakes patter down on my face.
The weather, I soon realized, would be the least of my problems.
Two years ago, when I learned my family was moving from the bustling world of Columbus, Ohio to a fly-over city in central Missouri, my first thought was not of the people I would meet in the future.
Rather, it was about the community I would leave behind. The bonds with friends I made would break, simply because I now lived 500 miles away.
I remember when I entered my old school’s cafeteria with a heavy heart, ready to break the news to my best friends. The tables were full of rowdy teenagers, excited to see each other, but I couldn’t be one of them with the coming announcement hanging over my head. I remember their faces, pale in shock, and my hugs trying to wash their tears away.
The last moments with my companions, a farewell party meant to be a celebration, only finalized the reality of my future. My old friends would move on. After all, they had each other to forget me with. I, however, would cling to the possibility that I could somehow become parts of their lives again, living blindly in the hope of reaching back into my past life. Whatever challenges my new city threw at me, I had to face head on, without the backbone of my friendships.
While the transition from eighth to ninth grade was rough, the move to a different middle school was just as demanding. I no longer knew which teachers would simply hand out busy work or grade based on accuracy.
As in all classic middle school stereotypes, lunch was the most difficult obstacle to hurdle. With a seating arrangement of no more than eight per table, the rush to the cafeteria suddenly became a chase for the chairs, and the stress became too much for my poor, overwhelmed 13-year-old self.
Thus, my first humiliating memory of school life in Columbia became having a complete mental breakdown in the counselor’s office. It was the third day, and I cracked with the pressure of not finding a familiar face to sit with during lunch.
Although not exactly ideal, my parents told me the easiest way to settle in is through patience and time.
As the semester went by, I finally started to get the hang of things. But then, life threw the most confidence shattering curve-ball it could at me: high school. The unparalleled epitome of disaster, high school was a looming pillar of possibilities, both good and bad, waiting to happen. For a newbie like myself, the difficulties of joining the new class of 2022 grew more with every passing minute.
Built to contain roughly 1,900 students, RBHS is by no means a small building, so navigation became an immediate issue. The physics classroom I found easily on jump start day took me two rotations around the science hallway to locate the next day. Rushing from the band hall to the math wing at 8:52 in the morning proved nearly impossible.
Eventually, I acclimated to the structure, but it took time. When I started freshman year, I was one of the few students with little to no experience inside a secondary school environment. That club everyone was talking about joining? I had no clue it even existed.
I realized I would have to be the one who stepped up, and rather than letting the opportunities blow past, I would have to seek them out myself.
Finding my place in a new city was hard, but not impossible, as I could join clubs and teams, including RBHS tennis and the church choir to become an active community member.
Yes, it takes some hard work, and sometimes I didn’t have the support of friends that I would’ve liked, but the daunting move no longer seemed so intimidating. The storm of unfamiliarity was now just a meek cloud in the distance, and I could finally find a sense of belonging.
Have you ever moved? Let us know in the comments below.
