I only attended the college from which I received my BA for two and a half years, but leaving it was one of the hardest things I've done to date. That said, I really couldn't even imagine how my classmates were feeling—those who'd lived in one another's presence for the full four years. I remember it being hard to say goodbye to my friends at NYU when I’d transferred; even though I knew I likely wouldn’t see some of them again unless we really, really tried, it didn’t necessarily feel like the explicit end of a chapter in my life (and of course, it wasn’t). But I left NYU when I was 19. So much was still to come in my collegiate career, and some not-so-subconscious part of me knew that, and found genuine solace in it, too.

Even though I went to one, I can’t speak to what it feels like to graduate from a school of 20,000. I can, however, tell you exactly what it feels like to leave a small school. I am all too familiar with the strangely strong connection you have cultivated, occasionally not even by choice, with your peers (and towards the end, even with those people you sort of hated throughout college). It's just the way the cookie crumbles when you see the same people day in, day out, without even planning so much as an encounter.

Senior Week, as we affectionately referred to it at my Alma Mater, was pretty much 7 days/nights filled with scheduled events, drinking, and crying into your best friend's chest on bathroom floors (like, literally, any bathroom floor would do, regardless of the grime to tile ratio), over and over again, until the morning of graduation arrived. College at large, however, right down to Senior Week (read: crying on floors), is different for everyone.

I didn't have a job when I graduated. I'd consciously allowed myself the spring semester to enjoy my last season of collegiate athletics, and spend as much time writing my thesis and with friends as possible. And honestly, two years later, I don't regret that (relatively irresponsible) decision. Of course, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of panic immediately following graduation. But in hindsight, those last months of college were everything and more to me, regardless of what I knew the future did, or didn’t yet hold. And hey, if you do have a job ready for you beginning June 1^st—more power to ya. Well done. You somehow did everything you were supposed to, hopefully while still finding time to have fun (if you went to Trinity College, I would put money on the fact that you managed to squeeze in plenty of fun along the way).

In my experience, graduating seniors generally fall into two camps preceding that final day: pure excitement for what lies ahead, or pure, unfiltered terror at the end of an era (please see above photo for evidence of which camp I fell into, as well as the camp my mother was in for me). But don’t worry. No matter which camp you find yourself in right now, it’ll likely change, even flip flopping hour to hour, during the next two or so weeks.

There will be people in your class who, at parties and other social gatherings during the month of May, exclaim: I CAN’T WAIT TO GET OUT OF HERE!!! Those people? They’re in denial. Don’t believe me? Just check in on them a few months from now. I can almost guarantee that same college-naysayer will be the person at homecoming this coming November who is shamelessly blasted, running up to any doe eyed freshman that will listen: "THESE ARE THE BEST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE. ENJOY THEM WHILE YOU CANNNnnnn" (exhaustion from the work week/trailed off enthusiasm coming to ahead all at once). I’m not kidding. This person exists. In fact, there will be many of them.

When you wake up on the day of graduation, things will feel weird. Some of you will have stayed up all hours the night prior, either partying or just sharing memories on your dorm room floor. Some of your classmates will fall asleep during the commencement address; others will vomit into the grass at their feet (either nervous or hungover, it's really anyone's guess). But after you’ve walked across the stage, received your diploma, gotten your picture taken, and shakily walked back to your seat (I’m sort of shaking as I write this… it’s like I have PTSDGE [post-traumatic-stress-disorder-graduation-edition] or something), you’ll feel an upward turn in your own mood, as well as in the atmosphere around you. Sure, your mom might have pushed inappropriately hard through the crowd to snap a few pictures of you (again, refer to above photo for an example of someone who did this), which of course makes you squirm, even though you’re 22 and used to it by now… But do yourself a favor and take a second—close your eyes. You’ll feel it. There will be an odd calm that washes over everyone, and it'll mean something different for you than it does for the person next to you. It’ll only last a few moments, because shortly thereafter the blow horns will start wailing and the yipping and hollering of your previously very hungover peers (who have either missed the moment entirely or are just in too much pain to understand what’s going on) will begin.

You’ve graduated college. If you’re like me, you threw your hat into the air but won’t remember it at all, because the whole morning—the whole four years, really—suddenly feels like an impossibly beautiful blur.

Congratulations, Class of 2016! You're going to be just fine.