In January, my column about Boston College’s political apathy gained unexpected attention. 

Amid messages of warm support and thoughtful disagreement, one commenter’s compassionate advice stuck with me: “Head down Comm Ave to [Boston University], they’d be more into your left-wing rubbish.” 

Well, kind stranger, you’ll be heartened to know I took your counsel seriously—even if a few miles beyond Comm. Ave. After several frigid reservoir walks’ worth of contemplation, I made a Common App account (again). Several essay drafts and paperwork headaches later, I submitted a transfer application to Tufts.

Every time I opened the Common App, I was confronted with an uncomfortable truth: I regret choosing to attend BC.

If I’d just been a bit smarter, if I’d just predicted the future, if I hadn’t fallen for BC’s misleading rhetoric, I would’ve chosen Tufts over BC as a high school senior. I would’ve spared myself this paralyzing choice between remaining an outsider in BC’s political and social culture and uprooting my life, social and otherwise, as a transfer. 

Regret begets more regret, and soon enough, I found myself contemplating everything I wish I’d done differently.

I regret not studying more for my Molecules and Cells exam last Friday. I regret procrastinating my summer planning. I regret not pushing myself to join more clubs and not getting enough sunlight. I regret the way I sometimes ignored my friends when I was struggling, the social situations I could’ve handled better.

These regrets felt like enemies—an army of them, criticizing me incessantly. The more I tried to distract myself from them, the louder they got.

When I actually listened, though, I learned they were telling me truths about myself: that I’m a scared-of-change procrastinator, prone to putting health and human connection last—someone who lets anxiety take the wheel too often. They pushed back on all of it.

Following their advice was uncomfortable, but I never regretted it. I don’t regret getting more politically involved in college, even if it prompts disagreement. (I do regret not bringing handwarmers to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement protests.) 

I don’t regret dropping a way-too-challenging class for my own well-being, even though I was terrified it would wreck my transcript. (I do regret pressuring myself to take it in the first place.) 

I don’t regret turning away from people who hurt me, even when I was scared I’d have no one else. (I do regret waiting so long to do it.) 

And even when I’m exhausted, swamped with studying, or already in my pajamas, I’ve never regretted saying yes to spontaneous plans.

Then there was the one I’d been avoiding: coming to BC.

My biggest regret taught me the most. I learned that I need people who like subverting social norms as much as I do. That I suffocate around intellectual conformity. That I can’t stand anything that feels like “doctrine” or being told how to think. That I feel trapped in apolitical bubbles.

I may have learned these truths about myself too late for them to influence my college choice—it depends on what decision Tufts emails me in two weeks. But whether I spend my next three years here or in Medford, I know myself more than ever, thanks to the decision I wish I hadn’t made.

And to that commenter who started it all: Know I don’t regret a word I wrote.