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I’m tempted to look back at the last three months and think WTF just happened? Where did all of that time go? It literally seems like I packed up my Honda Fit yesterday and drove down the PCH, whipping into Santa Cruz ready for my new adventure and a more stable life.

Well, here I am in December and I’m simultaneously grateful for my optimistic self and also a bit worn down. I’m always going to be honest on this platform, since there's no benefit in my mind to living a life void of truth and vulnerability. Where’s the fun in that? I know we all experience hard feelings and obstacles, so I’m certainly not alone.

The transition back into “student mode” was more difficult than I was expecting. I prepared as best I could, excitedly stocking up on colorful Pilot G2 pens and bright college-ruled notebooks. I cycled a lot of my old college-Lauren clothes back into my wardrobe, things like sweaters and nice boots and button-up shirts that have long been stashed in my parents’ basement. You don’t need many nice clothes when you work on a boat! Going back into the world of academia, I wanted to not only look sharp, but more importantly, feel sharp.

But as I sat my bum down in class the first few weeks of school and started the actual process of taking notes and absorbing material, I started to panic. A bit irrationally, yes, but tell that to any other overthinker and they’ll tell you we can’t help it. I felt like I didn’t remember anything from my undergraduate life. All of a sudden we were taking integrals and talking about second derivatives like those are knowledge nuggets I should just have in my back pocket. WHAT. I felt completely inadequate, even a little stupid, and very out of place.

And on top of that feeling of inadequacy, I began to wonder if the classes I was taking were even relevant to my future research. As a product of my engineering degree, I had never taken a marine geology or physical oceanography class, so I had no idea what to expect. But as we started laying the foundation for each of those classes, I found myself getting bored even though I desperately wanted to engage with the material. My people-pleasing self pinged back on, the self that was bred to thrive in a world of deadlines, due dates, expectations, assessments. How could I make it seem like I was good enough to be here?

I very much felt like I was floundering around in an ocean that I didn’t know if I belonged in. And I obviously love the ocean, so that’s saying a lot.

But as the weeks began to go by, and I started to complete homework assignments and mid-terms and presentations, things started to shift in my mind. This is going to sound counter-intuitive, perhaps, but I spoke with a good friend about the idea of doing “just enough” to get by in these classes I seemingly wasn’t enjoying. To my perfectionist brain, this was horrifying. Wasteful. Disrespectful to myself and to the people who had brought me here in the first place. But there was a part of me that also felt some sort of resonance with this idea, too. Something in my mind relaxed. The need to control subsided and some semblance of peace took hold amidst the discomfort.

The miraculous and ironic thing was that this new “just enough” mindset allowed me to engage more fully in the classes. I wasn’t expecting myself to ace anything. I wasn’t expecting myself to all of a sudden be charismatic and charming and articulate up in front of a room full of people I didn’t know well, speaking on a subject I’d never encountered before. I was able to let those unrealistic expectations go, at least for a moment. I was able to breathe.

This went on for most of the quarter. It was a flux and flow of confidence and peace with my decision to return to academia. I wholeheartedly feel I made the right choice to leave the world of tourism for a while. I’m receiving the structure and guidance I’ve been seeking for so long. I am surrounded by bright, motivated people. I know that if I have the foresight and grit, there are many opportunities ahead of me that I did not have access to or awareness of before.

As a consequence of that, the feelings of inadequacy still creep in. I know my “life experience” is valuable, but you can’t deny the heavy learning curve required to regain stable footing as a student, and soon, as a researcher when you’ve built a life for yourself in an entirely different domain.

But I’m here to grow. I’m here to change. It’s life’s only constant. I refuse to put myself in a box, and even though my anxious, over-thinking brain makes big transitions scary and hard (harder than ever before, to be honest) I am not afraid to ask for help and I am not afraid to fall. The whole world is there beneath my feet, after all.

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I am writing when I can, doing yoga when I can, treating myself to nice coffee and drinking less of it, slowing down instead of speeding up. We are approaching winter in Santa Cruz and although it is vastly different than my last few winters (in Hawaii, and before that in Idaho, and before that New Zealand), it is beautiful, and calm, and cool. The ocean still rages at the rocky shorelines of Eastcliff and Westcliff. The surfers still paddle out. The sun just says hello a bit later, and goodbye a bit earlier. I am taking a page out of her book. This is a season for rest, for dreaming, for creating, and simply for being. I am ready, and I am here for it all.