So here it is, my last semester of college. I could drip mawkishly over an altar of goodbyes, last hurrahs and bucket lists, or I can lay some truth on you jive suckas. I will, nobly, choose to do the latter.
First of all, your GPA doesn’t matter here unless you’re applying to graduate programs. If you are, you’ll want to maintain some semblence of studiousness, but the fact that your transcript will say “The College of William and Mary in Virginia” will play tremendously in your favor. “Better a College 3.2 than a JMU 3.9,” I’d always say if I were a douche. If you’re not planning on grad school and plan to enter the work force in some capacity, calm the ever-loving hell down. Ninety percent of employers surveyed in a fake study I just made up said that frankly, all they’re looking for is a college degree — some sort of indication of general cognitive ability and reasoning, and something that shows you can buckle down and get your work done, at least for four years amid periods of rampant binge drinking and hedonism, both of which are somewhat frowned upon in an office.
Secondly, shut up about your fraternity or sorority, at least as it relates to other ones. Kappa Phi is no better than Beta Delta, not all Sigma Mus are sluts and no Gamma Epsilons have ever drugged anyone. This is high-school bickering and ought to be regarded accordingly with disdain. You’re adults at a prestigious university; act like it. I, myself, am in a social fraternity that I love very deeply. You may be, too. Good for both of us.
Thirdly, get out there and live. You get only one go-round at life. One turn. You have one carnival ticket in your hand, and you’re going to hate yourself if you don’t make the most of it. What that means is, join a club. Start a band. Record music in the studios at Earl Gregg Swem Library. Play sports. Try a new sport you’ve always wanted to try. Learn to skate. Date someone totally different than yourself. Challenge the people and things you don’t like. Love the people and things you do. Read on the Sunken Garden. Get drunk if you’re old (read: awesome) enough. Buy a megaphone. Film a movie. Do all the things that you want to do because when you get out of college, wanting to do something isn’t a good enough justification for doing it, and that’s criminal. Hunter S. Thompson said, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow! What a Ride!’” That’s the closest to gospel any of us will ever come.
And finally, be happy. Life is too goddamn short to be unhappy. Find your little happinesses. Do something for you, screw everyone else every once in a while. Not literally, though, unless that counts as something for you, in which case, get it. Find something, some one little thing to dig about everything, and pretty soon you won’t have to find it, it’ll be the first thing you see. In people, too, which is pretty sweet.
Have a great semester! Because I’ll beat your ass if you don’t. Namaste, my liege.
Jason Rogers is a Confusion Corner columnist and hopes the track he laid down in Swem will make it big.
