I kind of feel sick writing this.
When you start college, you know there is an eventual endpoint, but you don’t have to think about it for a while. You get to make friends, find favorite spots, and romanticize the little things. You also learn and lose a lot along the way.
The real world sits, waiting for us. But not until the very end does that feeling kick in. Cliché, but it’s painfully true.
The first time I knew I really had something I was going to miss was during a tear-filled, sad-song queued car ride. Coronavirus had quickly shut down campus, forcing us students to get the boot out of the dorms.
I remember walking through my dorm in LaFollette, reminding myself one more time what everything looked like. Dramatic, I know, but I think we all thought the world was ending.
While I was stuck at home for five months, all I could think about was coming back to Ball State. It was hard to ignore all of the moments we missed out on. I was sadly reminded every time I saw a drive-through graduation parade, a postponed wedding, and any milestone that was turned into the word we’ve all come to dread: virtual.
We eventually came back though. Whether it was through a Zoom call or a series of email threads, it felt good to reunite and be back in a place I had longed to return to.
As time moved, we all adapted to our new normal. I made room for more memories and moments I knew I’d one day look back on and ache for.
No one warns you for how vulnerable you are when you’re 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22. You’re subject to change at any given moment. Life feels unpredictable and, at times, unstable.
But you’re young. You’re tasting freedom and independence. You’re breaking your heart then healing it again and again and again.
Missing something isn’t a bad thing. If anything, it means you’ve found something special and something your heart wants to hold on to for a little longer.
As much as I want to hold on to this time, l can’t. The clock keeps moving and slowly the last few months have turned into the last few weeks which are now turning into the last few days.
I’ve been thinking about how much I’ll miss this time in my life. I’m not sure I’m ready for the last time I’ll walk through this campus and be able to call myself a college student.
I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of the nights spent in my silly college house, getting ready for a night out with all my best friends above, below and across the hall from me (I’m also not ready to give up having five closets to borrow from).
I’m not sure I’m ready to no longer walk into the Unified Media Lab and share the funny bits from my day with my peers.
I’m not sure I’m ready to walk past the Art and Journalism Building and no longer have a class in it.
And I’m not sure I’m ready to write my last story for Ball Bearings.
But one thing I’m sure of is this: this time has been special. I’ve learned a number of lessons, the biggest one being to never take anything for granted. Losing a year of this experience was hard, but it’s made me appreciate the time I spend with others so much more.
I’ve also learned some practical lessons.
Never try to get lunch at the Atrium at noon. Do all of the extra credit you can. Always check Canvas before bed. Make sure you have a “buddy” on a night out. Don’t sweat the small things. Take a deep breath. Tell yourself, “It’ll be ok,” and eventually it will.
When we came up with the theme of “missing” for this issue, I immediately knew we’d have some awesome stories to tell. The Ball Bearings team never fails to amaze me with their talent. In this issue, you can read about mall culture going missing, the toys from our childhood that have gone extinct, passion going missing from a career, and more.
For four years, I’ve spent days and nights working with this award-winning, completely student-run team. I’m so lucky to have laughed and learned with them.
As much as I’ll miss Ball State, I know it’s time for a new chapter.
Maybe you’re reading this edition of Ball Bearings on the couch at home, in a cozy corner on campus, or at the kitchen table. Wherever you are, take note of your space. No matter how simple or basic it might be, appreciate it.
One day, you might miss it.
