The rain poured down, and the blue Toyota Camry slowly maneuvered its way out of the parking lot. Under the umbrella, I stood at the edge of the pavement, waving good-bye even after my favorite car faded away into the distance. I gulped in nervousness and turned around towards Hopper Dorm—my home for the next four weeks. I was at Valdosta State University for the Georgia Governor’s Honors Program (GHP), and I was terrified. How will I manage to live by myself? What if I become seriously ill while away from home? Will the food taste good? These incredibly important questions raced through my mind during the first few hours, but after meeting my three good-natured roommates, I became slightly more at ease. This feeling, however, was short-lived, as my experiences in the following weeks mercilessly catapulted me from my comfortable life as a child into the world of adulthood.
Day 1, 6:10 a.m. Awakened by an earsplitting, cacophonous bang, I jumped up from under the covers and almost fell out of my bed. Still half-asleep, I saw one of my roommates thrust his head into the air to look for the source of the sound. I finally traced the bang to my own alarm clock, which I had set at maximum volume to ensure that I would wake up. After turning off the alarm, I grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower—only to bump into my other two roommates, who were scrambling around to check if someone had broken into our room. Rite of Passage #1: Adjust the volume properly when setting an alarm.
Day 7, 12:30 p.m. “Hey guys! The toilet is clogged!” shouted my roommate [name], as if the world had ended. Feeling very much prepared, I grabbed the toilet plunger out of my closet and set out to save the day. As I made my way towards the bathroom, I took up a stance with the toilet plunger as Don Quixote would with his sword. I forced the toilet plunger into the clogged area and moved it back and forth, side to side, but to no avail. After ten minutes of hard work, I turned around to the blank stares of my roommates. Accepting my failure, I promptly called my resident advisor, who easily unclogged the toilet in about ten seconds. Rite of Passage #2: Learn how to use a toilet plunger.
Day 17, 10:30 p.m. After a long day of classes and seminars, I stared into the mirror to gauge my exhaustion. I reached for my toothbrush, only to see a dark greenish-brown residue on its backside. I almost gagged with disgust. Had I been sticking this fungus-infested toothbrush into my mouth for the past few days? More importantly, how did this fungus begin to grow? I quickly realized my own foolishness: because of a lack of counter-space, I had been storing my wet toothbrush in a Ziploc bag, thereby creating a haven for fungi. Frustrated, but enlightened, I threw my toothbrush into the trash can
and climbed into bed. Rite of Passage #3: Let toothbrushes dry before storing them.
To say that GHP was a life-changing experience would be to understate its incredibly transformative impact on my life. It was something completely new for me—that is, I had to fend for myself and accept many responsibilities that come with adulthood. Although this was somewhat difficult at first, I slowly grew to enjoy my independence and appreciate the associated accountability. Of course, I learned many life lessons while at GHP, such as how to manage my time, adapt to new environments, and maintain good health; however, any cultured adult would attest that the skills acquired from the three aforementioned rites of passage—setting alarms, cleaning toilets, and drying toothbrushes—are just as indispensable in daily life.