I’m supposed to be here.
I believe in signs.
There is no arguing that Erie is meant for me.
My lucky number/softball number is 23. It’s also my mom’s birthday. The key code for my apartment is 23J.
I love the water, and as of right now, I love the snow. Both make me happy. What could be better than a Res Life job on a gorgeous lake with the promise of snow?
My birthday is January 30th. I am an Aquarius. I live on Aquarius Drive.
Being new I don’t know where anything is located. Everyone is very friendly here, so I knew I could ask anyone, but one has quickly become my go-to person. My first friend here, Sheryl has turned into my fairy Godmother. (Thanks for the reference, Meg). Sheryl is the manager of the University Store. When I bought my first Penn State shirt, I met her. She is from Baltimore. Sheryl used to teach in Baltimore City. Anytime I’ve had a question about anything, I go to her first. I needed to find a bank. I asked her. I needed to find Walmart. I asked her. Each time I walk by the store, we wave, and she says, “Have a nice day, Sweetie.”
And now the infamous Raccoon story. I have always felt a strong connection to raccoons. My grandmother lived in the mountains, so I grew up around them. I then associated raccoons with my grandmother and after she died, I knew if I ever got a tattoo it would be of a raccoon. It means home and family to me. I can’t explain it other than to say it offers me a source of comfort.
Here’s the punchline: Erie means raccoon.
Take a second to process that one.
Erie is named after the Iroquois Indians who once occupied the area. In their language, Erie means raccoon. When I first read that I started crying.
Is it a coincidence that I’m here? Fate?