Sunday morning, I woke up and started crying.
It wasn’t all about the game-which-shall-not-be-named (Athough, don’t get me wrong, football had a lot to do with me being weepy all weekend.). It was about the sudden reality of it all being over.
As I’ve repeatedly stated in this column, I graduate next Saturday. As much as I would like to say that I’m completely excited, I’m not.
I probably shouldn’t be complaining: I have a job, I’m staying in Florida and my entire insane family is coming to cheer me on at commencement.
It’s just so hard to say goodbye.
Intellectually, I know that all this nostalgia is stupid. I remind myself of the many regrets I have about college. I haven’t been the perfect student or been bubbly all the time. One semester my junior year was the worst four months of my life. For a while, as a sophomore, I thought I had given myself an ulcer from stress. I took math courses through calculus three, only to eventually drop the major I was taking those courses for.
It wasn’t all football and parties.
So I’m not really sure why I’ve come down with this sudden case of arrested development.
I guess I don’t want to have to figure everything out again, to start from scratch.
I’ve spent the past four years changing everything about myself, in my opinion for the better: I’ve become less type-A, more goal-driven, more outgoing and less awkward. It seems so unfair that just as college becomes routine, just as I’ve cleared my schedule for tailgating and mid-week TV watching, it has to end.
Everything is temporary. My uncle likes to say, “Wherever you go, put up pictures, because otherwise everywhere is just another stop on the road — nowhere ever becomes home.”
I’ve been able to forget that at UF. I’ve probably been brainwashed by all of those “When did you first become a Gator?” campaigns.
In fact, I was on the phone with my mom a couple weeks ago, and she was talking about the newest commercial for her alma mater, the University of Missouri.
“It’s a little like the Gator Nation one,” she said, “Except I almost think it’s better because it has all these on-campus landmarks, so it gives you a sense of place.”
“But Mom,” I said, exasperated, “That’s the point. The University of Florida is in Gainesville, The Gator Nation is everywhere.”
Maybe, in a desperate attempt to feel warm and fuzzy, I will wear my Gators sweatshirt through the airport on my next flight home and fish for “Go Gators” greetings from strangers. Maybe I will actually donate to the money-grubbing alumni association, despite the fact that I can barely pay for food.
I’ll be OK. We will all be OK, seniors.
It’s all over, and I’ll probably burst into tears at random moments during the next few weeks.
But I do feel that my time at UF, the friends I’ve made here and even the really bad decisions behind me, have empowered me to live out the rest of my adult life. Sorry if that’s too sappy.
And, since this is my last column and I feel the need to be controversial: Lady GaGa is the new Madonna, men and women cannot be friends and people need to stop complaining about stickers in Student Government elections.
Go Gators! I will miss so much about being here.
Hilary Lehman is a journalism senior. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
