Like many people, I came to college hoping to find myself. I chose Binghamton because it’s a medium-sized school and I figured it wouldn’t be that long or arduous a search.

Well, after four years I’m happy to say I have definitely found more than I was seeking. I’ve learned that it’s important to always find a reason to laugh. I’ve learned that holding on to friendships is better than grasping at grudges.

And most importantly, I have learned that it’s okay to graduate with more questions than answers.

Many students come into college just as I did, ready to find themselves.

In fact, freshman year is devoted to this intoxicating introspection.

It is the time to find out what you love, what you hate, the difference between a few drinks and crying in the arms of the bouncer and, of course, what you can see yourself doing for the rest of your life.

When it comes time for sophomore year, enough barbecues and family functions filled with, “So what major have you decided on?” have generated sufficient frustration to result in that final step through the adviser’s door.

And then, after deciding our majors, we can finally breathe easy and count ourselves among the “found.”

The problem with being found, though, is that you stop searching. After deciding my major, I felt initial relief because I finally had an answer to the incessant questions. But my problems lay within my solution; I quickly realized the problems in having an answer.

When I used to respond “still figuring it out,” the questioner would continue to try to figure me out, attempting to understand me. Once you hand somebody your major, however, it becomes a free pass for both of you.

You don’t have to get your personality across, and they don’t have to try to get to know you; they already do. You’re going to be a lawyer, an engineer, a doctor or a nurse, and that’s all they need to know.

And the effect goes both ways — you begin to start seeing yourself solely as your major.

Well, when junior year came and I was, like many others, buried beneath work, I began to feel obligated to like all aspects of my major and guilty that I didn’t. I started feeling lost again.

This disconnect allowed me to begin the search for myself again, which led to many unforeseen re-discoveries. I started writing more. Columns, short anecdotes and poetry filled the pages with such ease it was almost as if they had just been waiting to be found.

It wasn’t that deciding my major crushed my creativity; the problem lay in the fact that I allowed my major to decide me.

This realization led me to an important truth: you are not your major. And when you graduate, you will not be your job.

Don’t get me wrong, choosing a major is an important step, but it should serve as a force that opens doors, not closes them.

“Finding yourself” is not a one-time occurrence, because once you make that final declaration that “this is me,” you lose the option to be something else. Undeniably, college is about finding yourself, but rarely does this happen all at once.

Almost like a giant lost and found box for us to frequent, life is never out of surprises for us to learn about ourselves. There’s always something different to pick up and, if you see fit, always something to leave behind.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m leaving behind worries that I should “know what I’m doing by now” along with my fears of what’s to come.

And I’m picking up new things about myself every day, a new attitude and an old scarf that somebody has yet to claim.

It’s okay if you don’t have all the answers right now, because it’s the questions that propel us forward. Just remember that this is your life, don’t forget to get lost in it.