In the past, I’ve written about the struggles I’ve had to overcome to be truly happy that I was pursuing my passion. However, something I didn’t mention was how much time I felt like I wasted. I felt like my hours in the lab had gone down the drain and that I was wasting an obscene amount of my parents’ money. This, along with the fact that nearly all of my closest friends were a year older than me, were serious factors that played into my decision to condense my program of study to three years.

I made this decision in May. That’s right, only about two months ago. Now here I am, a month away from starting my last year of college. I’ve seen so many articles recently on thoughts that people are having going into their last year of college. I can’t fully relate to most of them. They all talk about how they’re nervous and sad, but they’ve made enough memories over the past three years to be okay. They talk about the pressure there is to make the perfect senior year bucket list, to make sure they’ve done everything they wanted to while they’re still in the “good ol’ days.” Now that, I can relate to.

While I know that, at the end of the day, the pros outweighed the cons and I made the best decision for myself, in the long run, it’s still hard to feel like I haven’t been robbed of a year. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had my fair share of fun during my time as an undergrad. I went through my ratchet freshman phase, I joined the sisterhood of my dreams, and I met some of the most amazing people (peers and mentors alike) I will ever have the pleasure of knowing. I’ve made a ton of memories, but I want to make more. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but can you blame me?

Graduating early means I’ll be graduating at the ripe old age of twenty. That’s right, I’ll never be twenty-one in college. I’ll never be able to get that cliche champagne-popping photo on graduation day. I’ll never be able to go out to the bars with my friends to celebrate being old and washed up.

It also means I’m losing out on a whole year of being an active member of my sorority. I have one more chance to get a little, to have someone I can pass down all of my wisdom too. Okay, so maybe it’ll be more of me telling her to not make the same mistakes I made, but you get the picture. I know I’d be a great mentor to someone (and I have been to other younger sisters), but I still want to have that legacy.

I’m sure I sound petty right now. I know all of this sounds small, and in the grand scheme of things, it won’t matter. Looking back, these won’t be the things I miss. I know I did this to myself and I am forced to constantly remind myself that it’s all for the best. But right now, in one of the most stressful and emotional times of my life, it all just seems unfair.

No one likes a Debbie downer, so I won’t end on a low note. I’ll end with a toast (with sparkling cider): here’s to spending so much time with the newest members of my sorority that I won’t need to have a little to feel welcomed when I come back to visit as an alumna. Here’s to making enough memories this year that I’ll forget I ever felt this way. Here’s to senior year.