ZOE GONZALES / DAILY NEXUS

When I flew back to school from my home in Colorado to start my sophomore year, my sister began to cry in the plane seat next to me. As we gazed over the Pacific, preparing to land in sunny Santa Barbara, she looked at me and said, “I just realized how far away you are.” Sure, it’s a lot easier to be so far from home when my loved ones are just a phone call away, but being 1,000 miles away from home can, at times, feel suffocating.

Going out-of-state for college was an idea I always dreamt of. It seemed like the best time to get away from everything, when I wasn’t entirely on my own and had the stability of school to ground me. In many ways, it has. But I also underestimated the isolation I’d feel, especially at a school where only 4.64% of the 23,000 students are considered out-of-state. Of course, everyone struggles when they head off to college, but it feels worse when getting home has to be planned months in advance. I used to (and admittedly still do) seethe with jealousy when my friends would just drive home when they wanted to. Long weekends were the worst. Even though I could see the beach from my dorm room window, I still longed for the familiarities of home — a home that wasn’t so easy to get to. 

It’s an odd feeling to explain, wanting to be in the bitingly dry Littleton, Colorado when I go to what my parents call a “resort college.” There’s a lot of pressure to be perfectly happy in a place like Isla Vista, especially when my parents pay a pretty penny for me to be here. I thought it’d be a lot easier to be 1,000 miles from home when the beach was a block away, but I found that even on the beach, I miss the familiar comforts of home. As I gazed at the Pacific Ocean, part of me wished I was staring at the Rockies. I missed my view of the mountains from my window, the familiarity of knowing every road like the back of my hand. I missed the unrelenting welcoming aura of every Coloradan, and the obscene amount of golden retrievers and Subarus. 

To make matters worse, it can feel like no one understands where I’m coming from (literally). When I tell people I’m from Colorado, I usually get one of two responses: “Oh, so like, Vail?” (I’m honored they think I’m that rich) or “Does Colorado have any good beaches?” (I’m not making this one up). All this is to say, it’s easy to feel alone in college, as many do, but it’s even harder when you’ve never met a single person from your hometown, let alone anyone who has even heard of it. 

Granted, I’m incredibly lucky to be here. But it’s the pressure to be grateful and happy that makes the out-of-state struggle so much worse. I did the “right” things, worked hard and got myself to a great school in a beautiful place, so why do I just want to go home? If I can’t be happy in this beach town, how can I be happy anywhere? These are the questions that defined my freshman year, which was simultaneously the best and the worst year of my life. 

The night before I was set to fly back to school after winter break my freshman year, I cried so hard I threw up. I dreaded going back to my dorm, where I woke up to a view of the ocean. I grappled with not understanding why I had such a hard time being happy. If freshman-year Annie could see where I am now, she’d be shocked. If you had given her the chance to drop out and never come back, she wouldn’t have thought twice. Little did she know that no one was perfectly happy in college, and I didn’t have to be. That’s a lesson that I’m just now learning.

It’s ridiculous to think that you have to be happy 24/7, but that is what I thought. I had gone off to college on the beach; I should have been as happy as a clam (pun intended), but I just wasn’t. I finally realized just now, in the middle of my sophomore year, that being unhappy is a possibility, and a reality, everywhere. Being sad on the beach is just as likely as being sad in your dry hometown. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. It just means that you’re experiencing life, and sometimes, life makes you cry. Of course I would be sad leaving the comfort of my home, and even more, leaving my family, who means the world to me. 

The more I tried to fight the sadness, the worse it felt. Eventually, I became comfortable in the discomfort and let myself feel the sadness when it hit, but I also realized that it wasn’t permanent. A few moments of hard-hitting homesickness didn’t mean I was doomed forever or bound to run back to my hometown. It meant that I was experiencing change, and learning how to weather the tough times. Every time I made it through a bout of homesickness, I got stronger. Eventually, I proved to myself that I could get through it, even if “getting through it” meant crying on my lofted bed and scrolling on TikTok for hours.

I haven’t necessarily fought the homesickness and won. There are many times when all I want to do is go walk around my hometown’s Target. I can’t say I understand why I miss my hometown so much when I’m blessed to live in sunny Santa Barbara, but I can say I’ve become comfortable with not knowing, and I’m stronger for it. 

Living completely on my own 1,000 miles from home has changed me in many ways. I’m more resourceful, more outgoing and even able to handle having a cold without my mom taking care of me (shocker, I know). I’ve made family out of friends to combat the family I miss back at home. As cheesy as it sounds, staying busy has been my lifeline. The old Annie who once cried out of anxiety before her first cross-country practice would be proud to know that I’ve joined and tried out many new clubs, completely on my own. I’ve also learned how to weather the tough times by calling my loved ones, spending time with friends, biking with no hands (my greatest accomplishment) and enjoying the culture shock of California (seriously, why is everyone late, all the time?). I’m not walking on sunshine all the time while I’m here, but frequent belly laughs with my friends make me pause and realize that I’m going to be just fine. 

Most importantly, I’ve learned that it’s okay to be unhappy, even when you live on the beach. It doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of hard things or being far from home. It just means I’m learning to live on my own, and it’s never going to be easy. College is hard for everyone, no matter where you are or where you’re from. For me, it’s a bit harder when there are so few out-of-state people around to really understand what it’s like. Ultimately, though, it taught me how to be on my own and make a home out of two places. Plus, crying on the beach is pretty cathartic, and I’m oddly grateful I get to experience it.

Annie Gleason wants to remind you that no, Colorado does not have any “good beaches.”