Whimsy in Unexpected Places

Visiting old haunts

Oct 30, 2025

They walk around, stone-faced, their eyes staring straight ahead and never returning the smile I offer.

We pass each other, our feet treading the red cobblestone, yet none of them stare in wonder around at the beauty of the trees. Fallen leaves, all shades of red and orange and yellow, litter the stones beneath us. I stop for a picture; they continue on without pause.

I appear just like them dressed in a college hoodie and beanie. But what they don’t know is the hoodie I have on is nearly ten years old. Many of them were still in high school—maybe even middle school—when I was a student here.

But nobody knows.

I feel like an imposter; nobody knows I’m not a student. From all appearances I seem like one of them. In all reality, though, I’m just a stay-at-home mom of three years looking for a little dash of whimsy and something to fill my soul in the throes of motherhood.

I sit near a wide wall of windows, watching the squirrels dash back and forth between the bushes, cheeks full to bursting with the food they’re hoarding away for winter. The spot I’ve chosen is bright; the sun beats down on my back, its rays chased away by the swiftly moving clouds.

There is nothing like this campus in the fall.

There are so many trees, putting on their own little show in all shades of crimson and sunshine. It always shocked me how few seemed to appreciate the beauty of this place. Especially now, as I come back simply for enjoyment, it is sad watching the students walk around with their heads down.

Look up! I want to shout at them. Do you see how beautiful this is?

But that would certainly blow my cover. Then they would know who I am—that there’s no way I could be one of them, minds and souls clouded from homework and the seemingly important desires of youth. Maybe another day I’ll come back to shout, but today I am just here to write and marvel.

And what joy it brings.

I’m flooded with nostalgia, though my college experience was not a stereotypical one. I still lived at home, drove the forty minutes to class, and diligently studied. Then I graduated and got married and started a family.

It was boring; I never even went to a single football game. But man did I do a lot of growing up here.

This campus knew me when my heart got broken. It knew me when my grandmother passed away. It knew me when I met my boyfriend, when a ring appeared on my finger, and as I planned a wedding. It knew me for six years, from the ages of fifteen to twenty.

Those years are so transformative in one’s life. Who will I become? we wonder at teenagers. We mature, make mistakes, learn how to exist, and suddenly find ourselves as adults along with the rest of society.

This college saw me through it all.

And every year, in the fall, I find myself longing to revisit. Last time I was here I was pregnant with my daughter and didn’t know it yet. I’m here again, three years later, to see an old friend that knew so many versions of me—to reintroduce me, now a mother. A friend to grief, a survivor of the most difficult season I’ve been through yet.

Today, in a way, is evidence of surviving. Of living. Of being able to enjoy little things, to find joy in unexpected places. That life after loss can still be so rich.

So today I’m visiting old haunts—the hidden corners I loved to write in, the windows I would people-watch from, and my favorite little rice bowl restaurant. All while listening to the very same playlist that was the soundtrack to my college experience.

Hello, old friend. It’s nice to see you again.

Do you have an unexpected source of nostalgia, too? If not, look around. I encourage you to search up joy in unusual places. You never know what you might find.