Who said being a little lost was such a bad thing?

Another semester in the books. Set out on the two and a half hour journey home to Chicago from Champaign today, probably for one of my last times. It's strange, the feeling of finishing a semester. Turning in finals, cleaning out your room, knowing that you can come back and start fresh once again, just one month from now.

But this next time, this is our last time. This semester, it's our last semester. When we return, we know that finally, after four years, the end will come for sleeping in on weekdays, cheap beer, screaming football fans, binge drinking and lazy studying, all great things. These are things that we think we'll have forever. We won't want to study next semester. Ever. Campus bars will become equally as welcoming as our own apartments, and the term "sleeping late" will develop an entire new meaning. We'll have something great, something that completely lacks any sort of motivation or responsibility.

We'll have senioritis.

What we don't think about is that the end is finally near. We'll have to get jobs of some sort, go to grad school, live in our parents' basements if none of the above works out. We'll have to relearn how to be productive, how to reach for our goals, realize that we're no longer completely carefree. And we're scared.

We're scared shitless.

But what if we're okay being scared? What if we're okay being a little lost and not knowing exactly what we want to do immediately after our sheltered four years of bliss? I'm not scared of being unemployed, but I am scared of being underwhelmed by the world. So if holding on to these four years means being a little lost for a while, I'll take it.

And I won't be scared of graduation. I'll be anticipating what the world holds next for me. On the way home today, I found myself driving a little slower, slower than usual. Holding on, as long as I can.