The year I matriculated at UC Berkeley, I was so ready to go to college. I’d spent a “gap year” living at home, dancing 4 1/2 to 6 hours a day at a private dance studio, and butting heads with my mom.
My parents and my older brother helped me pile my belongings into our 1976 orange VW bus (with orange shag carpet!), then the four of us drove across the San Francisco Bay, to my new home in the UC Berkeley dorms, where we unloaded and shlepped all of my stuff into my room.
Like a chick being pushed out of the nest, I was ready to fly, but I was also scared. My stomach churned with that unique blend of excitement, possibility, and holy terror of the unknown.