As I sat in my Wednesday night class, a feeling of contentment fell over me. I had no idea why. Maybe it was because my iPod was on shuffle and each random song was a good one. But nah, I knew that wasn't it.
I opened my planner and began to count the days until graduation. Forty nights. Great. I suddenly felt like Jesus. I have 40 days and 40 nights left to do all I promised myself I would do before I graduate.
With psychology talk rambling in the background, four years suddenly flashed before my eyes. Am I really a senior? It seems like yesterday that I was a freshman with a dining plan, living in Wilkeson.
Now, as a senior, I barely have a class schedule and it's considered a 'big day' if I make it to campus. And now that it's getting nice out, my days consist of friends, beers and barbeques. Not a bad life. But reality slapped me in the face again to make me realize that, more or less, it's all over.
I flipped over my notes and just began writing - things I've done, things I've learned and things I wish I did in college. So, to the guy trying to get a peek at what I was writing the entire class, now you know. I guess it seems a little weird I did that, but at the time anything was better than testing the Dual Code Hypothesis. And besides, I knew a column would come out of it anyways.
After filling up the page in less than five minutes, I realized why I was so content. I realized that the past four years have been perfect...absolutely perfect. Of course I have regrets, but the stories I have from college read like a good book you just can't put down.
It's been everything I thought it wouldn't be, and that's just how I planned it. The night before my parents drove me to orientation, I remember lying in bed thinking I had college mapped out. The type of friends I would have, the parties I would attend, and the dry professors I would listen to. I got most of my ideas from the movies, which was obviously so far from the truth, but what did I know?
If someone were to hand me the list I made in class that night I laid in bed, I wouldn't believe them. I would have never guessed the things I would accomplish and learn about myself. I learned to appreciate Buffalo and all it has to offer: food, people, architecture, and the religious experience of tailgating at a Bills' football game.
College is a time to do things, and I have. I've made enemies, but made even more friends. I fell in love. I spent money I didn't have. I made bad decisions; I made great decisions. I've drank beers with one of my favorite bands, and met el presidente John B. Simpson himself.
If I could offer any advice to people with more time left than myself, I would say take advantage. Sneak in somewhere you aren't authorized to be, and act like you belong there. No one will be the wiser. Stick up for someone, but more importantly stick up for yourself.
If a concert falls on the same night as your night class, go to the concert. Have at least one friend that bartends. Get to know Marc Adler. Don't think too hard, or too much. Do yourself a favor and go on Spring Break. But most importantly, if it's not your jacket, DON'T TAKE IT.
All in all, when life hands you a joint, take a hit. When it hands you a beer, take a sip. You'll never know what a crazy night it could have been. And those are the nights that create the stories that make the pages turn.
College is a cruel preparation of what's to come: the real world. But alas, this chapter in life is easy to get wrapped up in and like all good books, it's over before you know it. I would never consider myself an author, but since life only gives you one novel to write, the first chapter I've written by myself isn't half bad.
