It caught me by surprise the first time it happened freshman year. After weeks of being surrounded by strangers, wondering when this was going to feel easy or normal, it hit me. Sitting in a lounge in Hinman, laughing with people who were on the cusp of becoming my first friends, I found myself unconsciously happy for the first time since coming to college.
Realizing I was happy does, of course, eliminate the unconsciousness of it all. Fuzzy logic aside, it was such a relief. It was an exhalation of a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For the first time, I was not furiously concentrating on being witty or charming or impressive among witty, charming, impressive strangers.
My college career is dotted with these moments: overstaying our welcome in the dining hall because no one wanted to move; trips to the library that dissolved into fits of giggles, books cast aside; watching the sunrise on the Lakefill in contemplative quiet (cheesy Instagram filters optional).
I was happy during a lot of my time at Northwestern, but becoming so without realizing it was particularly special, without the weighing dread of midterms or social anxiety of being cool. I am both a worrier and a planner, so these moments of unconsidered joy were both unexpected and fleeting. Inevitably, my brain would go into hyperdrive and ruin it. But for a blissful half-second, I could acknowledge my happiness and be thankful for it.
That initial relief turned to panic senior year, probably because I realized the barrage of ‘lasts’ that were to come.
Standing in the student section of Ryan Field, surrounded by purple-clad friends cheering on the ‘Cats to what I didn’t know at the time was the last home victory I would see as an undergraduate. Dancing barefoot in a cleared out dining room, all dressed up with some of my dearest friends and suddenly getting unreasonably emotional about Lorde’s “Team.” These moments became more frequent as the year went on, and I became possessively nostalgic over people and things, not wanting to waste a second of anything. Instead of being thankful each time I realized I was happy, I obsessed over what it would mean when it was all gone.
Truth is, I’m more than a little scared to leave this place. This place where I have made some of the best friends I will ever have, who loved me when I was pretty damn unlovable and who celebrated my success more than their own.
This is not a call to “live in the moment,” though I think we could all benefit from that. This is instead a plea for those, who like me, are not totally eager to charge toward bigger and better things. For those who, like me, loved Northwestern despite all of its shortcomings and times it has caused me pain.
It’s sometimes hard not to feel like I am being ripped out from everything good and stable after finally finding my footing. But as my days on campus dwindle, I am consciously choosing to see those moments as fulfillment of a prayer that I would find a home here and evidence that these feelings will happen again in a new place. So instead, I will let go and relax and allow myself to be unconsciously happy for a little longer. The real world can wait.
Lauren served as News Editor for North by Northwestern.