Closing Time

70 days.

70 days, 1,680 hours, 100,800 minutes until we graduate. It sounds like ample time when you break it down like that, but it’s really not. Because it feels like just yesterday morning that I was driving down Grand with my family on move-in day, not knowing what I had gotten myself into and fearing the great unknown that is college. And just yesterday afternoon that we were abroad in Spain, drinking wine straight from the bottle as we danced on the beach in the moonlight to the sounds of jazz. And just last night that we were laughing together, with beer spilling from our cups and arms thrown around each other as we thought of nothing beyond that small moment in time.

But I must have blinked or woken up from a long dream, because it’s daytime now, and we’re seniors with 70 days, 1,680 hours, 100,800 minutes until we are thrown from our blissful little world and launched into the real one.

Needless to say, I am a hot mess right now.

Not that this is out of character for me. Every school year, without fail, I’ve found myself on edge as spring comes around. The sun is brighter, the days longer, the air fresher — yet I am sadder. Even though I live for the summer and the freedom it brings, it always makes me a little somber. Nostalgic. For I know that when the school year ends, it’s completely and irrevocably over. And the next year, no matter how much better it might turn out to be, will always be different in some way. The end of the school year has marked the end of something for me that I’ve never been able to pinpoint until now: the end of another chapter of my life.

And now that my final quarter has arrived, this feels like more than just the end of another chapter. It’s the end of an entire book, an entire era of my life that has defined who I am and who I want to be — an era that has become a part of me, that I’m not quite ready to let go of.

College began as a long list of firsts: the first day of classes, the first party, the first failed test, the first adventure, the first moment where I felt like there was no place I’d rather be. And now it has become a long list of lasts: the last first day of classes, the last midterm, the last bar crawl, the last big party, the last sunset.

Suddenly 70 days, 1,680 hours, 100,800 minutes doesn’t seem like very much time at all.

Epsecially when it’s the small, fleeting moments that I might miss the most. Heading back from class at dusk and seeing the sun sink behind Bishops in the distance. Hearing the most random assortment of music played in the UU. Laying out on Dexter. Seeing front yards filled with games of beer die on any given weekend afternoon. And being able to walk through the streets and know each one like the back of my hand.

So a dreadful feeling that has slowly been creeping up on me since September, that I’ve worked so hard to avoid and ignore, can be ignored no longer: after 17 years of my life in the public school system, in 70 days, it will be completely over. Life as I know it, or as I have known it up until this point, will be over too.

Maybe I would feel better if I was looking forward to what’s on the other side. Because the grass is always greener there, right?

In this case, both yes and no. I’m excited to go home for a few months and catch up on all the sleep I never got these last four years, and maybe eat a vegetable for once. I’ll finally have the time to pursue the hobbies I love, like reading, writing and running. I’m currently deep in my job search, and even though I know it might take some time, I’m confident that I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for if I’m patient and persistent. And this is what college is supposed to prepare us for, right? Finding out who we are and what we want to do and who we want to be.

But the other side also has its dark side that I’ve heard about far too much, and this is what I fear. The postgraduate depression. Going back to square one. Not living minutes away from all of my best friends. Not having the freedom to take a road trip on a whim. Realizing that weekends don’t actually start on Thursdays. And, of course, the undeniable fatigue of the 9-to-5.

I haven’t had THE breakdown yet — you know the one I’m talking about. Not the one where you shed a few tears and get sentimental, before brushing yourself off and going on with your day. I mean the one late at night, after you’ve been going through old messages and old letters and old pictures and listening to sad music (seriously, I caught myself listening to the new Harry Styles song unironically last night — who have I become?) and then the reality of it all comes crashing down on you and you become immobile, crippled by sadness and paralyzed by fear. If this scenario doesn’t resonate with you or you have no idea what I’m talking about, then I applaud your strength and resolve. But most likely you do. And most likely, you’re similar to me and have been trying to put off this breakdown in the hopes that it will never manifest itself and you’ll make it through unscathed.

But something’s gotta give, and I have a nagging suspicion it’s going to give mid-bar crawl on graduation day at six in the morning, surrounded by my family and the friends who have become my family.

But until then, I’m determined to not let fear of what’s to come stop me from enjoying what I have right now. And I’m a firm believer that if we don’t start something because we’re afraid of how it will end, we’ll never start anything at all.

So to my fellow graduating seniors: don’t fear the future; enjoy the now. We’ll never be this young, dumb and carefree again — or at least young and carefree. So we must take advantage of it.

Of course, it can be hard to enjoy something when you know that its days are numbered. And there is no denying that I will deeply miss San Luis Obispo and all of the memories this little town has brought me. But most of all, I will miss all of you.

By you, I mean every single person I’ve met in my four years here. Whether you are my coworker or my best friend or my professor or my acquaintance, you have had an effect on me in some way and shaped me into who I am today. I’ve learned more from these relationships than any classroom could have ever taught me. So leaving all of you will hurt the most, far more than leaving this school, this town, this county. I am terrified that I might not ever see some of you again, and it’s this fear that keeps me awake at night.

But you have also made me who I am, and you are now part of me. So, though I am scared that our time together has come to an end, I know that I will carry you with me in some way for the rest of my life.

To all of my friends, family, coworkers, professors, acquaintances: thank you.

And to my sleep schedule and liver for the next 70 days: I am so sorry.