Saying goodbye

Moving out of my college dorm room, and where we go from here.

Season 20, Episode 08: Saying goodbye
9 May 2026 – The end of an academic year; reflecting on friendships, accomplishments, life, and the future.

P.S. I Love You (2007)

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Yesterday, I moved out of my sophomore year (university) dorm room. My year living there was my favorite at school so far, and I’d really settled into campus as my home.

Having lived there for two years, it feels like anytime I go to my hometown I’m actually away from where I should be. Of course, I love being home with my family, but the independence of being away is something I’ve grown to cherish.

my bed + wall from this year

Next semester, I’ll be in Ireland, meaning I won’t be back at my home college until January. It’s strange, really, to imagine who I’ll be when I’m not there.

Who will I be when I’m not living with my current roommate, who I’ve spent two years with now? She’s going abroad in the spring, meaning we won’t see each other for a full year.

Oddly enough, though, it seems we’ve grown closer in our knowing that our future time is somewhat limited. We’re planning on living close in our senior year. Our friendship might be stronger because of the separation we’re heading into.

This phenomenon reminds me of leaving high school, all my friends heading to different places across the country. Some of our “stay friends” sentiments rang true, others less so. But in every ending comes new opportunities; losing some hometown friends (not all!) led to my finding new friends.

Moving away from my college friends will allow me to find even more people to connect with, both new international friendships and new connections with people from my college who will be abroad with me.

I’m grateful for the abroad program I’ll be participating in, my opportunity to do such a thing is certainly rare and something beautiful. There’s around 20 people from my university going to Ireland with me, and I’m hopeful I’ll become good friends with them.

Normal People (2020)

I’m also hopeful I’ll learn a lot while there. I already am well underway in the art of patience and faith, with my host university functioning very differently from my home university, causing many nerves already.

Though many of my details are uncertain (I’ve been told Ireland is a very type B place, which is a struggle as a type A girl), I’m preparing as best I can. My flights are booked, I’m saving up money, I’m considering what classes I may want to take.

I’m slowly but steadily getting grades back for my finals this semester, and things are going shockingly well. I was quite worried about a few of my essays and exams, feeling unprepared and like my GPA was truly on the line, but so far all has turned out well.

While I was stressed and, frankly, freaking out, I managed to somehow more thoroughly discover a true interest of mine––film theory/criticism.

I always imagined the creative, production side of things would call to me more, however after taking criticism and production classes at the same time, the criticism has shockingly called to me so much more. Though I still love writing and editing films, I found a real passion for taking a strong, academic stance and placing myself in conversation with other film theorists. Shoutout Peter Wollen for this essay.

My finals week was marred by the death of one of my professors. It hit me harder than I expected it would, perhaps because I hadn’t ever realized quite how extensive an impact professors have had on me.

In the case of this one, I didn’t like him at all at first. I wanted to drop the class, and when I couldn’t I begrudgingly did all my assignments.

Somewhere along the way, though, I found my way to looking forward to the class. We’d workshop our own writing and hear feedback from others, I was really called to the way he set up the course in the end.

He even inspired me to continue down my path of studying english writing, maybe even considering the avenue of being a professor (though I make no promises in this regard).

His passing made me question a lot, at an already fraught time. Was I doing what I loved? How could I do more of it?

How could I show my appreciation for those who, unknowingly, may not always be part of my life?

Though I wasn’t particularly close with this professor, I valued his comments so greatly. I edited my short story for his class as he was somewhere losing his life. I was frustrated at my desk trying to follow his suggestions that I was continuously growing angry with.

In the end, my story is better for all his suggestions. And, it feels more important to me now knowing he had a hand in its creation. It makes me want to hold on to the narrative I’ve created, to do something with it. With my writing more generally, too.

The wake of death, of change, of leaving has only reaffirmed my own quest for purpose. I’m not sure where exactly I’m being led, but I’m going to follow the path in front of me anyway.

I encourage everyone to check out this professor’s fiction novel: Velorio. I haven’t read it, but I know from firsthand experiences how knowledgable and careful he was as an author, just as he was as a professor.

I’ll forever be sad I don’t get to learn from him more. I’ll forever be grateful I got to learn from him as much as I did.

My articles are usually longer meditations on subjects like these, but I find myself at a loss for words as I type. I don’t know where we go from here. I don’t know how the world keeps spinning as people keep suffering.

I just know that it does. The Earth spins and we wake up for another day. We think of those who do not get the chance to do such a thing. We breathe deeper breaths in their honor.

It’s sad that death is needed to remind us of the importance in valuing those around us. It’s sad that I needed it. It’s easy to coast through life thinking our loved ones and lives are indestructible, waste-able. But they’re not.

I think of the Mary Oliver poem “The Summer Day” :

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean —
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

So, tell me, what will you do with your one wild and precious life?

Where do we go now? We just go.

Chase a dream, follow an emotion. Listen to a song you love. Stop being so goddamn afraid of the future. It’s all you get.

P.S. It’s okay to be scared or uncertain. It’s what you do with these feelings that makes moments meaningful.

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