A letter to the Class of 2014

To the class of 2014, This is it. One week until you walk across the stage during a graduation ceremony longer than three Harry Potter movies, and chances are, you’re nervous, if not a little bit nauseous at the thought of tripping up the stairs. All rugs have been pulled out from underneath you and all sense of stability and order has been thrown into the bin along with the chunky black schools shoes you’ll never wear again. Scratch that, dig around under those bottles of passion pop and find your school shoes, you’ll need them next Friday.

You’re scared, (see also: agitated, nervous and must likely drunk off UDLS). It is okay, you’re not alone.

Trust your convictions. Drink the whole bottle of passion pop, you paid $7 for that nasty mix of alcohol. Go to that toga party with the other entire freshman year even if you can’t make a toga out of sheets, you’ll all be naked eventually. Take more selfies. Leave your phone in your pocket on nights out, you’ll remember them I promise (those tequila shots however can’t promise you that as well). Order ten nuggets instead of six for your post party/exam/class feed. Don’t go to the University you don’t want to go to, in order to not be alone, trust me (and my brother), you’ll make new friends. And while the blood running through their veins isn’t purple, their laughter would lead you to believe it is.

As much as the release of Ops and ATARs (or whatever your state calls it) scares the living daylights out of you, it isn’t the end. You might not get into the Uni course you want, but it’s never the end. It might take a while but you will find something that makes you happy, just keep looking, and don’t settle, you’re better than you think. You’ll get your shit together eventually.

Until then, the opportunities are endless. Say yes to the party with only three known people on the guest list, nights in with three seasons of gossip girl and even O-Week events. They’re not all lame (and for once there may be boys). Say yes to beach trips and camping trips and laugh when you trip on those obnoxious heels. Do the stuff that makes you happy because if there is ever a time to drink straight from the bottle and willingly use YOLO as a verb, it’s now.

It’s time to say goodbye; to the teachers you loved and lusted over (he really does look like George Clooney okay), and the ones who gave you two research assignments over winter break; to the poor souls you leave behind, still struggling to get through with only three breakdowns a term; and to the friends you love, but won’t see for another 20 years.

This may be the end of a really juicy chapter, but it’s not the end of the book (and, spoiler, there’s a sequel.)

Go forth and dance so hard you break an arm . I’ll see you at the reunion.

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