As a senior in college, there are certain things that I know for certain. I know that on Friday or Saturday night, I will be with my favorite people in the world—whether in my apartment, by the clocktower or in a fast-food drive-through. I know that they will make me laugh so hard that I cry, and one of them will say something emotional that will sear the moment in my mind. I will look at them, teary-eyed and smiling, and think — this is what I will miss the most.
It is a strange feeling, living a life that feels as routine as breathing, but knowing that it cannot and will not last. It is also strange to talk with friends who have already graduated and moved on, and to feel that slight gravitational pull — the feeling that soon it will be my time as well.Â
After over three years of college, the memories of bad chemistry tests, friend problems and nights spent crying in my dorm room have all softened with time. For better or worse, they have all been absorbed by the melting pot of nostalgia. And somehow, I find myself looking back on it all with a sense of peace. I know what it took to get here, to my final year. And I get it now. I finally understand what college is about, and I am okay with it. It may not be the idealistic vision of college that I had when I was eighteen — laughing on a perfectly manicured quad with thousands of friends and no homework in sight — but it has been fulfilling. It has given me opportunities and people that I never could have planned for, and it has allowed me to become a version of myself who is prepared to face whatever comes next.Â
But there is another feeling, growing stronger by the day even when I try to deny it. Especially when I try to deny it. The feeling that this is the beginning of the end. As I go about my daily life, stressing about my math homework and waving to friends on West Pine, I cannot help but remember that things will not always be this way. I have started to notice that everything is a “last” — the last time I go to Fright Fest with my a cappella group, the last time I stay at the library till closing during fall semester midterms. I have started to realize that my life next year, whatever and wherever it may be, will look completely different.
 I do not want to let go yet — there are still many late-night chats at Pickleman’s and attempted “academic weapon hours” at the library to come in the next seven months. Yet I also know I cannot hold on with a white-knuckle grip, refusing to admit that life goes on when college is done. It is a complicated thing, preparing to say goodbye to something that has taught you and changed you as deeply as college has for me, and I assume for many other people as well.
For me, the best way to cope is by realizing that I do not have to say goodbye yet. I do not have to count the number of days left in the semester; I do not have to cry every time my friends leave my apartment. I just need to be open to the fact that one day, in the near future, it will be time to say goodbye. I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Until then, I will remind myself—college may be ending, but my life is just beginning.Â