Trezlen Drake, Faculty Contributor

However painful the process of leaving home, for parents and for children, the really frightening thing for both would be the prospect of the child never leaving home.

–Robert Neelly Bellah

I have travelled a bit in my adult life. At last count, I’ve been to 43 states and 16 countries. It’s ironic since I never planned to leave my home in North Carolina. As a little girl I told my mother that I would take care of her when I grew up. Luckily, she made it clear that that wasn’t my job.

I was 16 when I really left home. I had been accepted into a residential science and math high school for my junior and senior years. Despite the fact that it was an honor for me to attend this school, neither my mother nor grandmother were thrilled about me living an hour away from home for the next two years. Until that moment, all of my trips were with family or were school-related and short term. Now I’d be gone for six-week blocks of time without parental supervision. Despite my family’s concern, this was the best thing to happen to me.

At my new high school, I went from a big fish in a little academic pond to a little fish in a big academic pond. I quickly learned that my math and science skills were average when pitted against fellow nerdlings. I was no longer able to cruise through my English classes without reading. I had to actually crack open a book to accomplish anything in my Russian class. All of these issues would have been rectified easily if I would look at the syllabus and do my work, but I was too enamored with all of the new and different people, the likes of whom I would never encounter in my small town.

Eventually, my survival instinct kicked in. I had always gotten good grades in school and wanted to continue that trend. I also wanted to remain at my new high school; a “D” was considered a failing grade. If I failed, I’d be sent home to my old high school and, I thought my chances of getting into a good college would decrease. So I dug into my studies and, with the help of a few new friends, completed my junior year and was invited back for senior year.

When it was time to begin my college search, I was determined to stay in North Carolina—or Virginia at the furthest. I had no interest in leaving home. Luckily, I had a guidance counselor who appealed to my sense of adventure. When I refused to consider Colby College because it was in Maine and therefore too cold and too far away, he suggested that I let them bring me to campus first and then return to North Carolina to go anywhere I wanted. Best. Advice. Ever.

That February, when I boarded the flight for Portland, Maine, it was only my second trip by airplane. I’d just returned from a failed recruitment trip in upstate New York; I didn’t like the people and was happy to go back home where I belonged. The trip to Maine was totally different. When I exited the airplane, there were heaps of beautiful, clean snow everywhere; it was exactly zero degrees. I was sure I was already in love.

The admissions representative, who eventually would give me driving lessons in his jeep, picked me up at the airport and drove us north to Freeport. I got to see the flagship LL Bean and eat Ben & Jerry’s White Russian ice cream. By the time we got to campus, I felt at home and was sporting a bit of a crush, if one can crush on beauty, nature and a college.

That weekend passed in a happy blur. Every student that I met was genuine and kind. Every staff member was beyond welcoming and helpful. And my Russian class—yeah, I planned to major in Russian and Soviet Studies—was exciting and fun! When I got my acceptance letter and a full academic scholarship, my only question was how to get myself and my things from North Carolina to Maine. Convincing my family was a different story.

My mother wanted me to stay closer to home, to go somewhere in North Carolina. My grandmother worried that I’d never learn to cook or take care of a home and family. But I would not be dissuaded. To attend Colby, I was willing to endure distance from family and holidays at someone else’s dinner table. I got my wish, but things didn’t work out as planned.

I’d envisioned the North as a paradise of sorts. I dreamed of the Underground Railroad (geography wasn’t my strong suit) and freedom from familial constraints and expectations. I expected Maine to be all things magical and new. What I got was something quite different.

I was welcomed to Colby in a way that would horrify even my redneck friends. Someone from a darkened car full of cowardly boys called me the N-word and told me to go home; no one in my small rural southern community would have dared! I quickly discovered that people in the “safe” place where I planned to spend the next four years were dismissive, disbelieving or indifferent.

I ended a promising career as a Russian linguist when I realized that the head of the department was an obnoxious, overbearing bully to me and many of my classmates. We made sure he didn’t get tenure but, heartbroken, I “defected” to American Studies. And I had to endure the attempts of well-meaning administrators trying to “correct” my speech because they thought my southern accent was undignified and ignorant.

Any one of these incidents, or numerous others, would have been a good reason to go home to North Carolina. But my pride wouldn’t let me quit. What would I do if I went back home? How would I deal with failure? And the I-Told-You-So of people who thought I should have stayed home from the beginning? So I stayed in Maine. And I’m glad that I did!

At Colby, I got to meet so many people that I never would have known had I remained home, people who are bonded to me forever because of our connection to Colby. I began standing up for myself and addressing the discrimination and “jokes” that could have distracted me from my goals and kept me from seizing opportunities.

I learned to swim and ice skate; I’m not the best, but I know how! I got my first passport and traveled to Russia and Ukraine twice, using my 3.5 years of Russian numerous times to get myself and my friends un-lost and fed. I toured England with my chorus one spring break and sang my first (and only) international solo. And I grew up a lot. I began to figure out who I am and what I like; I matured in a way I couldn’t with my family directing my every move.

My time in high school and at Colby prepared me for so much more than I anticipated. Sure, I had an educational foundation that equipped me for anything, including degrees in law, theology and library science. But, those experiences also prepared me for life away from home and away from my family. I learned to be an independent adult. I learned to schedule my time, pay my own bills and ask for the things that I want. I learned to ask for and receive help.

I have traveled as far away as Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, where I learned that I could eat as much as I wanted and still lose weight because of all the walking and, unfortunately, Giardia. I lived in Alaska for three years working, dodging moose and taking ridiculously early morning calls from family who always forget the time difference. And when I left Alaska, I drove home through Canada by myself, again dodging moose and staring into the sun. It was scary and fun!

Honestly, in each new chapter of my life, I have been terrified. What if something happens and I have to go to the hospital? What if nobody likes me? What if I fail? I nearly hyperventilated the morning I begin my trip from Alaska. I remember breathing deeply and coaching myself through basic steps–insert the key, start the car and shift into gear–to get on the road. Seriously!

But I’ve also been tenacious about seeking opportunities to advance, learn and grow. I have learned so much from each new adventure that I am practically undeterred. What if something good happens? What if I make lifelong friends? What if I succeed? What if I change the world–even just for myself? Not many people get these opportunities, so why not take the ones offered?

Whenever I see a new opportunity, I still subconsciously hear my guidance counselor’s advice, “Why not go so you can say that you’ve been? Then come home and do whatever you want.” I still think this is the best advice.

Even if you “fail,” you have made progress. You have a story to tell and you know something new about yourself. The only true failure is letting your fear keep you from trying. You can most always return home. But be sure that when you go back it’s because things didn’t work out; don’t go home just because you were afraid to try

Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.

–Thomas A. Edison

Professor Drake is a research librarian in the Kresge Law Library. She teaches legal research and specializes in international and foreign legal research. She can be contacted at tdrake1@nd.edu.