Four decades of life experience melted away in a single moment, and I was once again an insecure 18 year old.

This past August, I decided to “move in” with this year’s first year students. I went to the Athletics and Events Center on Sunday afternoon to receive my packet of information and get the key to my single room on the ninth floor of East Tower. A few minutes later, I stood in front of room 914, jiggling the key in the lock and trying to open my door. Suddenly, I remembered standing in front of my dorm room as a first year student at the University of Michigan 40 years ago. I had trouble opening my door then, too, and my mother had to help me. On that occasion I thought I was obviously not ready to be on my own as a college student; what other things would I be unable to do if I couldn’t even get my door open?

Then, as now, things worked out fine. I was soon meeting my hall mates, all of whom were very friendly even if they were a bit unsure of how to react to having the college’s president living down the hall for a few days. Parents and grandparents who came with their students to assist with move-in, though, were effusive. The grandmother of one of our new students came down the hall when she saw me moving in and asked, “Who do you have to know around here to get a single room?” When I explained who I was, she laughed and led me down the hall to meet her grandson. The presence of multiple generations to assist the move-in process was a powerful reminder of how important a day it was, not only in the life of a new student but also in the lives of the entire family.

I wanted to move in with the class of 2018 to get greater insight into how Ithaca College looks to our newly arrived students. Underneath the surface differences, res hall life has not changed much from what it was 40 years ago. Turntables and big speakers may be gone, but students still try to cram an entirely unreasonable amount of “stuff” into their rooms. Just like IC students every year since 1892, many went out for the evening, either to attend the great campus programs offered in those first few days or just to hang out with friends. Later that night in the residence hall, some students watched videos on their computers while gales of laughter came from behind other doors. Mornings were marked by bleary conversations at sinks lined up in the communal bathroom.

Living in the residence hall for a few days reminded me of the joy of getting up in the morning and walking across campus to my first appointment—no car involved. I had also forgotten the joy of walking around campus in the evening with no purpose other than to chat with clusters of students who were enjoying the brief window of leisure before classes began.

I was only a campus resident for about 72 hours, but as my daily routine began to form, I realized I am fundamentally the same person now that I was as an 18 year old. The biggest difference is that this time I had less anxiety about the immediate future and was able to more fully appreciate the beauty of this time in the lives of first year students.

On one occasion I directed the attention of a group of students to the campus spread out below us, and Cayuga Lake stretching into the distance. The sun was getting low and the light on the lake kept changing as the last of the sailboats made their way to harbor. “Look how beautiful it is,” I told the students. “This belongs to you. It is your home.”