I had a problem when I started at UCLA. Though not serious, it was definitely amusing.

One year ago, I thought I had “figured it out.” Flung from my San Francisco hometown into the sprawl of Westwood dorm life, I felt unbreakable and ready for anything.

But my arrogance was short-lived. I wasn’t actually that mature or that ready. Realistically, I was still very young – and very stupid. Possibly the greatest lesson I learned as I plodded through countless research papers and strolled along Hollywood Boulevard was that I still had plenty to learn.

UCLA isn’t high school, right? Well, of course not. But I wasn’t so quick to understand such a basic concept.

Instead, I spent the beginning of my freshman year haughtily prancing about my Sproul Hall dorm room. I probably looked like an obnoxious high school senior – I blasted bad music; I told horrible jokes; I relished in the same tofu at the same salad bar every day. I probably wrote the worst composition I’ve ever produced.

The mere fact I had been accepted to UCLA (despite my imperfections) seemed to place me on top of my game. And, for some time, I truly believed that I was the slickest cat on the Hill (or something like that).

Well, that ended – in about three days. College wasn’t that easy, and my jokes weren’t that funny. Actually, they sucked – a lot.

Daily tedium hit me fast and hard. I spent a lot of time engaging in tragically boring activities like grocery shopping, folding my own laundry and purchasing at Ackerman Union overpriced textbooks for class.

“I assumed college would be more exciting,” my friend Alex, who attends a small liberal arts college in upstate New York, told me over the phone.

I laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” No doubt, I attended fraternity and apartment parties, bars, clubs and art galleries. I even witnessed amazing live music shows in Bruin Plaza.

But something was missing or yet to be found. The pieces weren’t adding up. I didn’t feel so slick and cool anymore.

During my winter quarter I stumbled upon an answer in a class I took. I reluctantly had enrolled myself in Professor Bruce Barbee’s class, Education 197J, as a part of the Peer Advising Network program.

I didn’t want to enroll in the class. I didn’t want to go to class. But through our weekly readings I was introduced to a new and important concept: the freshman myth.

Basically, the concept explains, college students often start their university career with very high, unrealistic expectations. Like so many others before me, I was relatively disappointed.

Why wasn’t I constantly stimulated? Why didn’t my floor-mates mix more fruit drinks, strum old acoustics, and listen to more gritty underground tracks? Why did I have to fold laundry? Why did my hair look like an unruly Amazon jungle? Why did my language classes start at 10 a.m.? Why couldn’t I wake up at 10 a.m.? The freshman myth made complete sense!

Then spring break happened. I went back home to San Francisco and basically existed as a sedentary teenager. I played slightly better music. I told slightly better jokes.

Then one day my younger sister walked into my room and asked me, “How’s college going?”

I laughed. “Pretty good.” She seemed confused, so I decided to elaborate. “I mean, high school’s different from college, and San Francisco’s different from L.A. And I’m doing a lot of boring, everyday things at UCLA, too. It’s not exactly like the movies,” I added.

“So, I mean, are you glad that you chose UCLA?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I responded, “That’s one thing I know for sure. I’m glad that I go to UCLA.”

I was glad – and I’m still glad today – that I chose UCLA. That’s why, when my spring break came to an end in mid-April, I made a conscious decision regarding my final few months as a freshman. I concluded that I wanted to make the best of my spring quarter.

My UCLA experience really was in my own hands. So when I did return to campus for my last three months, I made sure to venture out into the city more often. I dedicated myself to classes that mattered to me and stabilized friendships that made me feel good. And I learned to love UCLA in the way I wanted to love it – not the way I assumed I would love it.

Above all, I accepted the fact that I was still very young and very stupid.

So here I am today. I just finished my freshman year at UCLA, and I feel great. Maybe I’m not as cool as I once assumed myself to be. Perhaps I’m not quite so slick. And maybe UCLA didn’t live up to my expectations as a 24/7 party of intellectual discourse and massive dance-hall extravaganzas.

But that’s perfectly normal. And I like it that way.

Fried is a second-year history student. E-mail her at ifried@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.