My brother graduated from the University of Connecticut in May. For the non-ESPN watching set, UConn is home to one of the strongest NCAA basketball programs in the nation. In early April, UConn won the men’s and women’s national championships.

I watched the men’s championship game from my dorm room with my basketball-crazed roommates. When it became clear that UConn’s victory was secure, I screamed for three minutes. My RA, who lived across the hall, texted me during the final seconds of my celebration to remind me of quiet hours, curtailing my excitement.

***

In the months building up to my freshman year, I reveled in my romantic prejudgements of a place I had never visited. I liked the way I thought New York City smelled. I rejoiced in the way I thought I would feel walking home to my Fifth Avenue dorm. Unfortunately, my tumultuous first semester at NYU demonstrated the extent of my delusion.

The mawkish tenderness that carried me to New York withered within weeks of my arrival. College is hard, especially first semesters — and that’s before the extremes of New York City are taken into account.

Learning to love NYU, I quickly discovered, would come from acceptance of trade-offs. Sure, New York City doesn’t afford me X, but at least I can do Y, I would remind myself. Attempts at justification, however illogical, preserved my spirit, especially when gloating social media postings from friends at more traditional universities left me in despair. During bad days I, like many teenagers, dutifully disguised my struggle in cheerful Facebook postings. The shared insincerity of happiness provided a momentary stopgap of real feeling, but it did little to benefit my long-term satisfaction. Only when I sacrificed the self-serving pretense of happiness was I able to move forward and seek out that which would ultimately be fulfilling.

By the end of my first year, I had sought and found community in small groups, rejoicing in the company of intramural volleyball players and Washington Square News staffers. While I still may not feel as united with NYU as my peers from home do at their universities, I feel connected to the people that make it great and the city that makes it challenging.

As the year progressed, I found myself rationalizing NYU to friends less frequently. I was telling college stories without qualifiers excusing NYU of its Division III status and unconventional campus. I proudly shared my experiences of waiting in line at “Saturday Night Live” and using our dorm’s B stairwell as a meeting place for mischievous minds. That’s what made the difference for my relationship with NYU — authentic interactions.

***

I checked my phone again before I went to sleep. My RA had texted. “Congrats on the win.”

Omar Etman is a deputy opinion editor. Email him at [email protected].