Herndon 113

Eight years ago, I was getting ready to go to college. I was packing up my stuff, generally freaking out, and feeling like a real grown up. I knew I was living in Herndon 113 with a girl from Highland Park, TX. My suite-mates were exotic. They were from Georgia and California. Whoa. I was ready to take on the world with my coordinated comforter, sheets, art, lamps, and towels.

Last weekend, I visited Herndon 113. The room that I moved into eight years at Trinity University with a group of strangers. It looked even smaller than I remember it. The paint was new, the furniture updated, but, still the same. It was still an incubator for college freshman to grow in. Grow indeed.

My dad moved me in and out of that room. My lost my first meaningful relationship in that room. I learned that friends are not always friends in that room. I learned about failing and winning in that room. Seeing it with fresh eyes, reminded me just how far I've come from that 18 year old wearing khaki shorts and a pink t-shirt with a freshly broken heart and endless possibilities on move-in day.

And sometimes, I miss her. And Herndon 113.