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Being almost done with college is one of the strangest feelings. You are technically still here, still going to class, still checking Canvas, but it no longer feels the same. 

You are half in the world you have known for years and half out the door, and it is honestly very emotional.

I walk across campus now and catch myself realizing how different everything feels. The same walk from my usual parking lot to Taylor Hall that I have done a thousand times suddenly feels like a countdown. 

Every time I pass the Rock or sit on a random bench for a minute between classes, I am hit with this weird mix of nostalgia and disbelief that my time here is almost over.

The hardest part is how life keeps moving even if you are ready to slow down. My friends are still entirely in college mode, talking about spring plans, senior events and what they will do after graduation, and I am already on my way out. It is exciting and bittersweet at the same time. 

People keep saying, “You are so lucky to be finishing early,” and yes, I am! But it is also strange to be leaving in December while everyone else still gets a few more months of the moments I am already saying goodbye to.

I will be finishing school when campus is covered in snow and everyone is buried in finals, while the significant graduation energy will not hit until May. Sometimes I catch myself wondering if it will even feel real without that spring chaos around me.

There is also this quiet pressure to make the most of every last second. All of a sudden, every random night out, every coffee run and every class feels like it should mean something. The truth is, not everything will. Some days, I just want to lie in bed, scroll through TikTok and avoid my email, like any other semester. And that is okay. Not every moment needs to be cinematic or meaningful.

The nostalgia sneaks up in funny ways. It is not just the big stuff; it is the small, stupid things like fighting for a parking spot in the C-CPA lot and knowing, deep down, that I will still get my last ����ɫ��ҹ parking ticket for parking just a little closer to classes. 

At this point, that feels like tradition. 

Or running into people I haven't seen since freshman year and pretending I totally remember their names. Or realizing this might be my last time rushing across campus in the cold, balancing my drink and my bag while trying to stay warm and also not to fall on the black ice that shows up out of nowhere every winter.

There is something special about the chaos of it all. The things that used to annoy me now make me smile. 

I will even miss the construction detours that added ten minutes to every commute. Okay, maybe not actually miss, but they definitely became part of the experience this last semester.

What makes this stage so confusing is how it feels like everything and nothing is happening at the same time. 

There is comfort in the routine of it, complaining about group projects, grabbing food in the Student Center, sitting through lectures and studios that feel way longer than two hours. It is all so normal until you realize you are about to lose it.

This weird in-between of almost graduating comes with a constant back-and-forth between excitement and sadness. You are proud of how far you have come and all you have accomplished, but it also feels like the ground is shifting under you. Everyone keeps asking what is next, as if there is a perfect answer waiting, but maybe there isn't. Perhaps it is okay not to know right away. That could be part of growing up.

Finishing college feels like leaving a version of yourself behind. One who was nervous during the first day of classes, who learned and unlearned so much, who slowly figured things out one semester at a time. That person deserves to be celebrated just as much as the graduate who walks across the stage.

I have been trying to be more present lately and actually enjoy these last few months instead of fast-forwarding to what comes next. That means saying yes to random plans, spending time with people I love and just taking in the ����ɫ��ҹ campus for what it is: imperfect, sometimes stressful, but still home.

Going forward, this stage of life will remind me that change is never as scary as it feels in the moment. 

The same way I learned to navigate parking chaos, 8 a.m. classes and creative burnout, I will learn to navigate the uncertainty of whatever comes next. 

This in-between has taught me that endings are not really endings, but they are proof that you cared enough to make something worth missing. It may be uncomfortable, but it is also beautiful. 

It is where you realize how much you have grown, how fast time moves, and how lucky you are to have something this hard to leave.