When I pray, I often find myself repeatedly uttering variations of the same phrase:
Thanks for not leaving me in the 11th grade.
Thanks for not leaving me as a college freshman/sophomore/junior/senior.
Thanks for not leaving me as a 23-year-old.
I arrived on campus in 2012 an eager, energetic 18-year-old bundle of self-confidence and tie-dye T-shirts. Family members helped me unload my car and slide my pre-organized plastic crates into place underneath the bed in Cathcart Hall. I spent the majority of the next 10 months approaching life like a kid approaches one of those huge inflatable Velcro walls — at a full sprint with arms wide open, wearing a smile and questionable attire. For me, college was the perfect blend of the familiar aspects of school (homework, tests, group projects) coupled with an abundance of exciting social opportunities to explore.
I arrived in Little Rock in 2016 a tired, slightly overwhelmed 22-year-old bundle of expectation and overworn tie-dye T-shirts. I unpacked my car, bought a mattress and forgot to get a hair dryer for my first day of work. Similar to freshman year, I was introduced to new people, places and responsibilities. This time around, though, I looked up at the Velcro wall with uncertainty and thought about how much energy it would take to fling myself toward it. The familiarity of school was gone, only to be replaced by the staggering realization that never again would I be in such close proximity to thousands of my peers and the handful of people with whom I had grown the most. There’s a certain level of understanding among college students that doesn’t exist anywhere else in this life.
“The ending of a season will often include some sort of grief.”
After graduation I spent several months grieving the death of college. The process was unintentional at first, but when a name was finally given to my seemingly out-of-place emotions, I accepted the grief with vigor and relief. The more honest conversations I had with my close friends, the more I understood how normal my experience was.
No one is immune to change and its accompanying grief. Whether you move to a hip city with all of your best friends, stay in Searcy, get married, stay single, travel overseas or buy a house in your hometown, you will no longer be a college student. Good days will be followed by periods of loneliness and uncertainty as you navigate a new routine. It’s sad. You’ll probably cry some. If you’re anything like me, you’ll feel guilty for your inability to approach life with the same eagerness you did when you were 18.
It’s OK. It’s going to be OK. In fact, it’s going to be better than OK. Allow yourself the time to grieve and remember that most of your friends are experiencing the same rollercoaster, so give them a call. And, when you’re ready, get a good running start and leap toward that Velcro wall. There are so many wonderful things to experience in this season of life, and I can’t wait to see you on this side.
Thanks for not leaving me in the 11th grade.
Thanks for not leaving me as a college freshman/ sophomore/ junior/ senior.
Thanks for not leaving me as a 23-year-old.
Thanks be to God for change.
