Between What Was and What’s Next

This is my last opinion piece as a St. Lawrence University student. I started this year with some advice, so I think it would only be appropriate to end with advice.   

I’ve learned a lot during my time here; some things came from classes, others from people, and a lot of it came from those small moments when you thought you had everything figured out, only to realize you didn’t. College isn’t a linear path, and it’s easy to think that everyone else has it together while you’re just figuring it out step by step. But there’s something valuable in that confusion—the part where you don’t have all the answers, but you still keep going.  

If there’s one thing college has taught me outside of the classroom, it’s that rushing is overrated. Not just being physically in a hurry, though, that happens a lot too, but the rushing we do emotionally. Rushing to succeed, to feel like we’ve “made it,” to have the answers, to become some final version of ourselves as quickly as possible. But the truth is, nothing meaningful happens faster just because you forced it. The things that truly matter don’t come quickly. They unfold slowly, requiring patience and a willingness to be changed along the way. Life doesn’t move on a deadline, and the sooner we stop trying to outrun ourselves, the more fully we get to live.  

A quiet truth I’ve come to understand is that growing up often means grieving past versions of yourself. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes, it’s subtle; other times, it feels like a full goodbye. The person you were last year, last month, even last week—those versions don’t always stay. But they mattered. They got you here. And instead of rejecting them, we can honor them. We can carry what they taught us and let the rest go. There’s something beautiful in recognizing your own evolution, even when it comes with a little loss.  

And sometimes, growth doesn’t look like a clean, pretty process. We don’t always feel better or more sure of ourselves as we move forward. There are plenty of moments when you’ll question if you’re making progress, if you’re on the right path, or if everyone else has it figured out while you’re still navigating the same mess. That’s okay. Progress doesn’t always look how we expect, and that’s part of the ride.  

Not every moment in life has to teach you something. Sometimes, things just happen. People come and go. Plans fall apart. You make mistakes. It doesn’t all need to be a lesson, and it doesn’t all need to make sense. You’re allowed to experience things just because they happen—not everything has to be useful or meaningful. Let it be what it is. It’s okay to live in the moment without forcing a deeper meaning.  

If I’ve learned anything through these years, it’s that people make life. Not grades or accolades or accomplishments that fill resumes. People. The ones who make you feel seen. The ones who ask how you really are and stay for the answer. The ones who make the hard days bearable and the good days unforgettable. Find those people. Hold them close. Let yourself be known.  

And yes, we do owe things to each other. Even if we like to say we don’t, we owe each other kindness, patience, and a little grace on the days we don’t deserve it. Life gets lighter when we carry it together. We are more connected than we think, and genuinely choosing to be there for others makes the difference.  

Your success is your own. Don’t dilute it by measuring it against someone else’s. Whatever it looks like—quiet growth, private victories, survival on the days when that’s all you could manage—it counts. You’re allowed to be proud of what you’ve done, even if no one claps for it.  

One of the most freeing things I’ve embraced is being a little “cringe.” Not in a try-too-hard way but in the sense of letting go of the fear of being perceived. Say what you mean. Love what you love. Be excited, passionate, honest. Life is too short to live under the pressure of being effortlessly cool. Give yourself permission to care out loud.  

And when life feels too heavy, too fast, or just too much, let yourself be still. You don’t have to fix yourself all the time. You’re not a project; you’re a person. It’s okay to pause. To not know what’s next. To just exist without performance or progress. Some days, that’s enough.  

When the world shows you its worst — and it will — don’t become part of the problem. Choose not to mirror that cruelty. Choose kindness. Choose empathy. Choose softness, even when it feels easier to harden. It may not change everything, but it changes you. And that’s something.  

Try new things. I know you’ve heard that before, but here’s the truth: it’s not about ticking boxes or reinventing yourself overnight. It’s about staying open. Saying yes to something unexpected. Letting yourself explore parts of life — and parts of yourself — you haven’t met yet. One decision, one small risk, can lead you somewhere you didn’t even know you needed to go.   

One of the greatest honors of my time at SLU has been serving as the Opinions Editor for The Hill News for the past two years. It’s been an experience I never expected to have and one that has taught me more than I can put into words. From the first editorial meeting to the last late-night layout sessions, I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some incredibly talented, dedicated and passionate people.  

To the staff — both past and present — thank you. Thank you for being patient with me, for trusting me with this, and for teaching me far more than I could have ever anticipated. Every deadline, every discussion, every edit, every story and each moment has shaped me into a better writer, a more thoughtful editor, and a more engaged member of this community. The work we did together mattered, and I’m proud to have shared that space with all of you.  

This role wasn’t always easy, but it was always rewarding. And none of that would’ve been possible without the support and collaboration of the incredible people who’ve been a part of The Hill over the years. I’m deeply grateful for the time we spent together—those late-night layouts and last-minute pieces will always stick with me.   

And lastly—thank you. To my friends, both current and former, and to everyone who crossed my path and left their mark in ways big and small. Thank you for the laughter that made even the toughest days lighter, for the honesty that helped me grow, for the conversations that went on long past midnight and somehow always felt too short. Thank you for the support I never had to ask for, the quiet encouragement when I needed it most. You’ve shaped me in ways I’ll carry with me forever, and you’ve meant more to me than you’ll ever know.  

This may be my last byline here, but it doesn’t feel like an ending. Just a gentle turning of the page. I don’t know what’s next—but I know I’m going to keep going. Still learning, still showing up, still trying to do it all a little more honestly.  

Here’s to whatever comes next.  

With love,   

Poppy