What I Learned From My Gap Year
By: Lauren Faust
Before I took my own, my perception of gap years had always been that they were one of two things–an excuse for rich kids to travel the world or an opportunity for people who hated school to convince their parents to let them not go to college. As you can probably tell by my own bias in talking about gap years, there is an absurd amount of stigma that surrounds them. You’re either categorized as someone who can afford to blow your family’s money traveling around Europe for a year, or you’re someone who doesn’t aspire to anything besides living in your hometown forever. The latter has always been my biggest fear.
Being from Long Island, I admittedly judge those who didn’t have the same itch to leave home that I did. Most students at my high school stay on the island, or at least in the Northeast. Not just leaving home, but living on the opposite side of the country, was something that had always been a dream of mine–hence my plans to attend college in California.
After attending what I thought was my dream school, a small liberal arts college outside of Los Angeles, I was devastated to find that I was incredibly unhappy and homesick. Moving back to New York for COVID started out as what I originally saw as an opportunity to reset. I could live at home for a few months and figure out what I was truly meant to do–what would make me actually happy. This time was a period that gave me the opportunity for introspection, as well as great personal growth. While isolated, I was forced to confront my own mental health struggles, as I didn’t have any excuse to not put them off anymore.
I didn’t start to consider taking time off from school until all of my friends began to talk about how excited they were to return to their college towns for the fall semester. I realized that I wasn’t anxious with anticipation of going back to school, but rather with dread–I was never going to be happy or be able to heal in a place where I had been sick. I decided to take the fall semester off to work while applying to transfer schools. I knew I wanted to live in California again–absence really does make the heart grow fonder. My body physically ached for the opportunity to call Los Angeles home. This is what led me to USC.
Come spring, I was facing criticism from family and friends who claimed that if I didn’t go back to school then, I never would. Begrudgingly, I enrolled in community college classes and continued to use the time for my own personal growth and development.
Something no one talks about is how closely our generation identifies with being a student. I often found myself feeling like I was missing a part of myself. Even taking classes locally did not feel authentic–for the past 13 years, being a student was my largest responsibility and the biggest part of my identity, whereas now it was a burden and a pastime. I prided myself on my intelligence and ability to do well in school, so what was I when I no longer had the opportunity for academic validation?
No one tells you how your gap year leaves you feeling left out and behind. I knew that what I was doing was the best possible thing for me to do, yet I found myself criticizing and questioning my judgment. What if I made a mistake? What if this choice ruins everything I worked so hard for? The hardest part of this year was the forced self-analysis and self-reassurance that I knew what I was doing and knew I was where I was meant to be.
Making the decision to transfer to a new school during the pandemic after having lived at home for nearly two years was something I did not take lightly. The premise absolutely terrified me, yet I knew it was what I was supposed to do. This was what my gap year had ultimately been for–to take time for myself so I knew what I truly wanted, and the opportunity to do so now lay before me.
Upon arriving in Los Angeles, and taking my first classes at USC, I knew that I had made the right decision. USC feels like home, as do all the people whom I have met here and the organizations I have joined; even my own little apartment that I share with my three roommates who were nothing more than strangers two months ago feels like home.
I grew up under the impression that a gap year was an end to something. I was convinced that I was on the right path and that if I stopped to think about what I was doing for too long, I would never end up where I was meant to be. My gap year taught me about how my identity goes beyond being a student, and that no one knows what is best for me better than myself. My gap year was not the end of my life as a student, or a climax to the potential that I saw for myself–it was the beginning of something much better and bigger than I could have imagined.