First weekend of freshman year, August 2008.
Oh, how I love rainy Sunday afternoons. As I sit sipping my coffee and listening to the soothing patter of raindrops coating the thirsty Midwestern lawns, I find myself in a state of quiet self-reflection. I’m choked by nostalgia, almost painfully so, as I realize the significance of this week. My alma matter is now back in session, and I, for the first time in four years, am not there. Ten thousand students march the quads, my two feet left out of the pack. I sit from the outside looking in, and quite honestly, I miss the view from within.
I was warned of this. I was told that college would fly. I was told that each semester would evaporate faster than the last, until one day, the eighth would mark the last. I didn’t believe them. For, no matter how mature for my years, I felt invincible to the passing of time. I was too busy planning my future to stop and fully appreciate the present. Life revolved around tomorrow’s test, next weekend’s party, next month’s job interview – today was taken for granted.
But now, I understand the warnings. I understand what they meant by the phrase, college will fly. It did indeed.
Here’s to the class of 2016, the talented young people who have joined a new collegiate family. Embrace each day for, “we have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand and melting like a snowflake.” It was perhaps the most valuable lesson that came with my degree.