It’s my final column. Fun!
OK, maybe not. People who are going through transitional times who are tasked with writing a final column usually make it sound like a graduation speech. And as narcissistic as thinking your writing is so damn witty and insightful and awesome enough to warrant it being shoved into newsprint every week, it requires an even greater sense of self-absorption to think you’ve got wisdom that needs to be speechified.
Bad news? I’ve got a double-whammy of “transitional times” happening: I’m turning 22 Saturday, and I’m graduating April 30.
Good news? I’m all too aware that I’ve got actually very little wisdom to dispense, so there’s little danger of that happening.
Part of the reason why this whole “I’m 22, and I’m graduating from college” thing isn’t sitting well with me is because I remember thinking that I’d have a lot more stuff figured out by now. As it stands, I have not gotten my crap together in any substantive way. I still get heartbroken more easily than I’d like to admit. I’m still utterly terrified of the future. And I still get really, immaturely excited over things like hot cocoa at 3 a.m.
To be honest, I don’t think any of that is going to change. If, after 22 years of living with four years of college, all that is still there, then I think I’m pretty much stuck with it. What I can do, maybe, is put it in context: I can realize that a broken heart means that something in my life was worth caring deeply for, and that’s worth celebrating. I can realize that being terrified of the future is a universal experience, and it provides a pretty compelling reason for all of us to be there for each other when we can. And I can realize that tiny little moments can be the most meaningful, especially when they’re shared — because really, 3 a.m. hot cocoa kicks ass.
I think I was under the impression that knowledge and experience are supposed to inure me against hurt, fear or frustration, but that just hasn’t been the case. All knowledge and experience has done for me is help put that hurt, fear or frustration in context.
Not so that it’s any less painful or scary or frustrating, but so that, at least for a moment, I can take a breath and remember that things have a tendency to be OK.
Four years of college later, and I thought I’d have more of this figured out. But I think I’m alright with what I’ve got.
And hopefully this isn’t too self-indulgent, but I will do one graduation speechy thing: a handful of thanks.
To the Alligator: Ana Goni-Lessan, an amazingly talented photographer who was the first person ever to say something kind about a column; Allie Conti, the opinions editor when I first started writing the column; and everybody at the Alligator copy desk who’s saved me from sounding too dumb — which, believe me, is no small feat.
Thanks to my friends who have been really supportive of this column, especially those who were totally into the idea of hijacking the Tuesday column and turning it into a weekly mini-essay about love and empathy. (Who needs politics when we’ve got hugs?) In particular, thanks to my awesome colleagues at 88 Advertising, and my roommate, who’s served as kind of a one-person focus group for the past two semesters.
And, not to sound too dorky, but thanks so much to everybody who’s told me they like the column. I really do appreciate the Facebook messages, and it really does make me all smiley when someone stops to say hi around campus. It means a lot. (Also, I’m sorry for being awkward in real life.)
It’s been a lot of fun writing for you all. Thanks, everybody.
Joe Dellosa is an advertising senior. His columns appear on Tuesdays.
