Dear freshman…

Shea Rowell
Class of 2019

(8/2018) As you walk on to campus for the first time, you’ll be flooded by the newness all around you. You’ll be faced with a new place to live, new people to live with, new food to eat, classes to take, friends to make, goals to reach, etc. I remember being overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar faces, and wondering if I made the right decision when I enrolled at Mount St. Mary’s University. However intimidating it might be, I advise any new student to see the uncertainty of the next four years not as an obstacle, but as a chance to grow beyond the limits of your comfort zone.

So far in college, I have found numerous opportunities for growth. There are courses in almost every subject and activities for every interest. It is easy, however, to let these opportunities pass you by. If anything can prevent you from growing in college and making the most of your four years of study, it is your comfort zone. Breaking out of it, however, is easier said than done. We like our comfort zones; they make us feel safe, secure, and sure of ourselves. Especially when other things in our lives change, we can cling to our habits, interests and routines as a constant. We like what we know, and feel uneasy when we are faced with "unknowns." But these moments of fear, discomfort and uncertainty are the moments that will make your college experience fruitful, memorable and fun.

The most prominent comfort-zone-breaking moment of my college career took place last January, when a loved one of mine, my grandfather, passed away. He was 94 years old, and if anyone could boast of a full life, it would be my grandfather. Warren Hill Pinter fought as a Marine in the Pacific during the second World War, was the only survivor of two platoons, and earned two purple hearts and a gold star. When he returned to the states after the war, he married his first wife, Dorothy, and together they raised nine children. He was a talented actor and singer, and participated in local opera companies as a performer. Professionally, he worked as an engineer. The capstone of his career was his work with NASA on the Apollo 13 mission as an environmental engineer (he has an autograph of Buzz Aldrin hanging on his living room wall!). After Dorothy’s passing, he retired and married my grandmother, and together they travelled the world and visited their growing herd of grandchildren. He was a man of courage, skill, generosity, and laughter. I will never forget his witty humor or his deep basso belting out Gilbert and Sullivan showtunes.

His passing was a sad day, especially for my grandmother, who cared for him in his sickness for years without complaint. Shortly after his passing, my grandmother called me on the phone, and asked me to sound Taps at his funeral. I agreed without hesitation; how could I disappoint my grieving grandmother, and dishonor my grandfather’s memory by refusing? As soon as I hung up the phone, however, the weight of the task sunk in. Who was I to sound Taps at the funeral of a decorated military hero like my grandfather? I, with no military experience to speak of, and doubtlessly much less musical experience than the military buglers. What if I made a mistake, or played at the wrong time? What if I played it too fast or too slow? Just seconds after agreeing, my mind was flooded with doubts. Could I really do this?

About two weeks later, I flew to Florida to stay with my grandmother for a week before the funeral. She introduced me to her friends as "the granddaughter who will be sounding Taps," and I struggled to maintain composure as the conversation turned to how moving that was going to be. The pressure built throughout the week, until finally the day arrived. The church filled with family members whom I had never met as I paced in the back with my trumpet in hand, nervously blowing air through it and trying to calm myself down.

The service began, and I sat in the very last pew, glancing behind me all the while to catch the arrival of the Marines who were to present my grandmother with an American flag at the conclusion. When they finally arrived, I slipped out the door and greeted them, and noticed that they brought their own bugler – an experienced Marine bugler who would without a doubt sound Taps flawlessly, and without dying of panic! The officer looked me in the eye and asked, "Are you sure you want to play?"

This was my way out. I had one more chance to back out, and slip back into the pews unnoticed. But before I could stop myself, I said yes, I was sure. I stood in the back, stock still as the Marines marched slowly up the church aisle, my heart was pounding in my chest. Their procession took all of two minutes, but to me it felt like hours! As they extended the flag over my grandfather’s urn, I raised my horn and began to play, feigning confidence and poise, playing loudly and strongly, for everyone to hear.

When it was over, I lowered my trumpet, still shaking, and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God that I didn’t make any mistakes. All the stress, frantic practicing, doubt, and terror was worthwhile as soon as I saw the looks on the faces around me – pride in the man they called their husband, father, or grandfather, and honor to his memory.

While my comfort zone was somewhere sitting in a pew, I took the opportunity to be vulnerable, and to honor my grandfather in the only way I was able. I will remember that day for the rest of my life; I hope I made my grandfather proud.

So, if you’re a freshman starting your college career this month, take that class, join that club, go to that event. Leave that pesky comfort zone at home. Without it, you’ll accomplish things you never thought you could, and become a better person than you thought you could be.

Read other articles by Shea Rowell