What is it about going back to a place you used to know? There’s a delight, a little thrill when you see things that remind you of what once was. It’s the little things, too – the hook on the wall where you used to hang your coat, the pillar in the middle of the room where there used to be a worktable around it, the area where your desk used to be.

I took my daughter on her first college visit last month, to the college where I attended and used to work. Her last meeting of the day was held where my old office used to be located, some 25 years ago. I paid no attention to the discussion. Instead, I looked around, in awe. I felt a sort of quiet reverence being in that room again. The memories came flooding back: laminating alumni cards, using a computer for the first time at work (those were the days of DOS . . . ), the fumes of markers from coloring Homecoming decorations. It was an odd feeling, the memories flooding over me like that. If I squinted my eyes just a touch, I could almost see the ghost images of Teresa (she had a baby that she named Gentry, her maiden name), Cindy (she taught me a lot about being a good employee), Diana (she looked like a flower child, but had the mind of a computer guru), Robyn (a dynamo of a woman), Marilyn (my hero – the first professional woman I ever knew), and Virginia (who took me under her wing).

As I drove home that day, with my daughter about to embark on the most exciting journey of her life, I felt as if a circle were closing. I was young, idealistic and had a lot to learn when I worked there. I was married and thought I knew everything. I knew nothing. But since then I’ve learned that my goals are just as important as anyone else’s, that my time is as valuable as anyone else’s, and that making your dreams come true requires hard work, perseverance and a little luck. The ghost of me that wanders the third floor of the Student Union would be proud of who I’ve become.