These past few years, I have found nothing more annoying than someone who introduced themself as a fourth-year student and tacked on the seemingly obligatory “I don’t want to talk about it” at the end — as if being in the final year of college was the equivalent of qualifying for AARP or getting fitted for dentures. So imagine my surprise throughout this fall as I have continuously introduced myself by saying, “I’m Grace. I’m from the Boston area. I’m a fourth-year. I can't believe it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
While being a fourth-year student is, in fact, not the equivalent of qualifying for social security, sometimes it feels just the same. And it's something we oldheads don’t want to think about, let alone admit to a classroom full of — often younger — peers. Navigating my final fall on Grounds, however, has forced me to acknowledge the frightening reality of my limited days left at the University. Over the past month, I have realized that making the most of these fleeting moments means just living in them, rather than painfully focusing on trying to appreciate them.
This past summer, recent graduates continuously reminded me that graduation creeps up on you out of nowhere. One day you’ll be reading on the Lawn and sunning on Mad Bowl, and the next day life will pluck you from the world of Tuesdays at Trin and Fridays at frats and drop you into the realm of conference calls and corporate lunches, all in the blink of an eye.
After hearing these warnings, I was determined to outsmart this phenomenon. Coming back to the University in August, I was convinced I would soak in every moment possible, be acutely aware of time ticking by and appreciate every day to the fullest, so that the inevitable end couldn’t startle me, even if it tried.
I operated under this mindset for the first month of the semester. At Block Party, I reminded myself that it was the last time I would ever see Wertland Street flooded with foolish first-year students. A few days later, I sent my mom my annual first day of school photo, incessantly reminding myself that this was likely the last photo I would ever send her of the sort. At my last football home opener, I focused on the fact that the rest of the crowd would have one, two, even three, more of these first football games, and for me, this was it.
You know what I didn’t do the first month of this semester? Have fun at Block Party, have a fun first day of class or have fun at the home-opener. I felt like something was off in the air — the intangible feeling of euphoria that defined my love for the University had disappeared. I felt like I was watching everyone else have fun, wondering why I was no longer enjoying all the things that usually make me feel the most like myself.
Then I realized — my insistence on staying one step ahead of Father Time was the problem, not the solution. Constantly reminding myself of the fleeting nature of these moments prevented me from immersing myself within them. For the first month of the semester, instead of enjoying some of my favorite traditions at the University for the last time, I wasted my time focusing on the fact that they were my lasts.
You can’t really “appreciate” a moment if you’re too busy worrying about properly appreciating it. Trying to enjoy a college party while your internal monologue is pestering, “You better be appreciating this because you’ll be at a boring desk job soon!” is probably worse than actually being at a boring desk job.
The reason I have loved my time at the University so deeply is because in all of my favorite moments — my favorite parties, my favorite classes, my favorite sporting events — I wasn’t busy thinking about how much fun I was having. I was just having fun. I love everything about my last year of college so far, besides the fact that it’s the last one. So why should I let the threat of the “last” keep me from enjoying the rest of my University experience?
There’s a romantic naivety to the feeling that life at the University is so all-encompassing, so riveting, so intoxicating that you can’t possibly imagine it ending. The feeling that all that exists, and all that ever will exist, is right here on Grounds. I don’t care if graduation creeps up on me — I’d rather relish in that naivety for one more year than allow the dread of graduation to strip the feeling away from me prematurely.
Sitting on the Rotunda steps writing this, I can’t help but picture myself here again in a mere seven months, walking down these steps as a student for the last time, draped in my cap and gown. I will leave the best four years of my life behind me, with the rest of the world lying ahead of me.
And when I paint my journey to Final Exercises in that light, it sounds beautiful and inspiring and all of that. And it is, but it is also terrifying. The ticking graduation clock in the back of my head will be loud sometimes, no matter how hard I try to suppress it. Because I’m a fourth year. I can’t believe it. And I don’t want to talk about it. But that’s no excuse for not living deeply within every day I have left until that clock’s alarm rings. Time to go to Coupes!
Grace Scott is a Life Senior Associate for The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at life@cavalierdaily.com.
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