In the grand scheme of things, four years isn’t a long time.
According to the CDC, the average woman lives to be 80.2 years old. My undergraduate experience lasted just four of those years — only 1/20th of a lifetime. And yet, for so many people, those are remembered as the best years.
Think about that. Four out of 80.2. So many experiences in between — and still, those four stand out.
I’m not saying I disagree. My “college experience” was everything I hoped for and more. I can confidently say I’ve lived, laughed and loved to my heart’s content.
But still… it’s kind of wild to think about, right?
And now, it’s coming to an end. I’m excited, don’t get me wrong, but leaving one thing for another is nerve-racking, especially when you don’t know what the next thing is.
People keep telling me it’s an “employer-driven market” (translation: we’re supposed to be grateful for any crumb of interest from a company, let alone a callback). Applying to job after job after job is exhausting. Balancing that grind with classes, part-time and freelance work, and the last scraps of that so-called “college experience” (FOMO, amirite?) feels like spinning plates while blindfolded while standing on a unicycle.
Point blank: there isn’t enough time, I don’t have enough energy, and continuing to hype myself up is starting to feel like shouting into the abyss. I’m tired of pretending that a cover letter is going to magically showcase my worth. What if I’m doing everything right and still not enough?
I’m way in over my head. Or maybe I’m just too in my head. Hard to tell these days. Generally speaking, though, I’m terrified. Like, the sh*t-my-pants-while-walking-across-the-stage-to-collect-my-diploma kind of terrified.
I’m trying to start the next chapter, but it’s like someone forgot to write it.
Keep on keeping on
I’m graduating whether I like it or not. And I do like it. I think.
No, I do. I really, really do.
This isn’t me trying to convince myself in the mirror at 2 a.m. (again); this is genuine optimism. Mostly.
I’ll miss Columbia, my friends, my professors and my black and gold saturated routine. But I know I’ll find a new place, new people and new things to do.
I just don’t know where yet. Or what I’m doing. Or how taxes work.
I’ve got momentum and zero direction. So basically, I’m a Roomba.
But yeah, it’s happening. I’m graduating. And you know what? That is exciting — maybe even enough to outweigh my fear of the unknown.
I’m applying for jobs. I’ve got some leads. I’ve had a few interviews and fewer responses, which can be disheartening.
I know I’m a solid candidate. And I know it’s just a rough time to enter the journalistic field (or any field, really).
But convincing my heart that I’m not doing something wrong? That’s been #tough.
I’ve been talking about it a lot. Like, a lot. And to just about anyone who will listen. I probably sound like a broken record to my friends and family by now — but that’s okay.
I’d rather say too much than keep it all in. Bottling it up never did anyone any good, right?
What a concept.
So, here I am, wearily launching myself into the uncertain and continuing to apply for jobs and doing all of the so-called “adult” things. Wish me luck.
Staying optimistic?
I’ve been called a relentless optimist on not one, but two separate occasions by not one, but two separate people.
I’ve always been a glass-half-full kind of gal — positive, excitable, easily enthused. I’d argue that I’m known for it, even.
But when people know you for something, it can start to feel like that’s all you’re allowed to be. And in this weird, backwards, stuck-in-my-own-head kind of way, expressing anything other than good vibes starts to feel… off?
It’s hard to explain.
Like, yes! This is so awesome and exciting and new but also — UGH!
Because here’s the thing: I’m a human being. I’m complex. I have other emotions, and I shouldn’t be afraid to feel them.
And lately? I’ve been letting myself do just that. I’m feeling them. Like, all of them.
The walk to and from my last classes has never felt more surreal. Every little moment — every laugh, every smile, every awkward goodbye — hits differently now.
I’m taking it all in: the good, the bad, and the ugly (me after Stop Day). And I’m letting it come as it is, without filtering it through optimism or expectation.
It doesn’t matter what lens I’m using anymore. I’m just living my life as it comes, and for right now, that’s more than enough.
The part nobody warns you about
Everyone talks about senior year like it’s one long celebration. Capstone complete! Pop the champagne! Yippee!
But what they don’t tell you is that, sometimes, it feels like grieving.
Grieving routines you didn’t know meant so much. Grieving the version of yourself who thought she’d have it all figured out by now. Grieving the friends who are about to scatter like confetti to the wind (haha — grad pic joke, get it?).
It’s a colorful combination of celebration and sadness, pride and panic, freedom and fear. It’s hugging people a little tighter than usual because you don’t know when you’ll see them again. It’s avoiding eye contact during “lasts” because if you acknowledge them, they become real.
Yikes.
They don’t tell you how many goodbyes come before the big one. Or that the scariest part of moving on is realizing you have to let go of something good — something or someone or somewhere you loved — to make space for whatever comes next.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe that’s how you know something mattered: if it hurts to leave it behind.
God, I know. It’s so f*cking cliche that it hurts, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
I’m graduating. I’m going to be walking across a stage, shaking hands and smiling for photos. Beneath all that, I will be carrying a hundred questions I don’t have answers to.
I’m excited and scared. Hopeful and exhausted. I’m grieving what’s ending while trying to stay open to what’s beginning. I’m doing my best — and honestly, I think that counts for something.
Perhaps the real marker of adulthood isn’t landing the perfect job right away, or understanding health insurance, or suddenly becoming immune to self-doubt.
Maybe it’s just showing up. Maybe it’s about letting go, a little at a time, of who I thought I had to be and making room for who I’m still becoming.
I don’t know what happens next, but I know who I’ve been. I know what I’ve built. And I know that, even if the path ahead is unclear, I’ll keep moving — one uncertain, hopeful, stubborn step at a time.
I’m way in over my head. Or maybe I’m just too in my head. Hard to tell these days. Generally speaking, though, I’m terrified. Like, the sh*t-my-pants-while-walking-across-the-stage-to-collect-my-diploma kind of terrified.
I’m trying to start the next chapter, but it’s like someone forgot to write it.
And you know what? That’s okay. :)