Close

In true Elena tradition, I have not started writing this column until well after it was supposed to be submitted to the new section editor — sorry Jordan. But for the past few days I have been racking my brain, trying to decide what would be the most appropriate things to say in my final column.

I could say something trite, like how Binghamton made me grow as a person. I could pass some wisdom to the underclassmen, such as: Befriend frat boys, bouncers and bartenders early on. It’ll make nightlife a little more enjoyable.

Or, I could tell you to get out while you still can. But I won’t.

Instead, I’ll tell you that I began my life at Binghamton University the same way a lot of you did — wishing I was somewhere else. When I applied to college, I had no idea where I wanted to go. I applied to Binghamton because everyone else in my graduating high school class was and I figured we had nothing to lose. When I got my acceptance letter, I figured that’s where I was going to be spending my next four years. Then I got that big envelope from University of Maryland, College Park.

My parents and I visited both schools within a short time span. When I visited Maryland, it was sunny, warm and students lazed on the majestic quad, playing frisbee and reading Plato.

Fast forward to Binghamton. It was rainy, cold and there was still dirty snow on the ground. No-brainer, right? My father didn’t think so.

While it was ultimately my decision to come to Binghamton, I made it with some reluctance. I moved into my dorm with the help of my parents and (then) boyfriend, only to discover I had been put in a chem-free dorm by accident. After my room was settled and the familiar faces left, I sat alone in my dorm — my roommate was a sophomore who had not yet moved in — and started crying and thinking about what the fuck I had gotten myself into.

One awkward freshman year later, I had discovered Pipe Dream, and consequently, my true college experience.

It has long been a running joke in the newsroom that we didn’t go to Binghamton — we went to Pipe Dream University. I’ve come to realize that this may not be a joke at all. Through Pipe Dream, I have not only found my voice as a journalist, I have also found job opportunities and even my own little family. We love each other here, even though we spend way too much time together and occasionally contemplate murdering each other.

A few months ago, some of my peers and I attended a journalism conference in Los Angeles with students from many other campus newspapers. Most, if not all of the other papers, had at the very least an adviser. It made me realize what makes Pipe Dream, and BU, different from other schools — our independence and autonomy.

Here, we are allowed to make mistakes and learn from them in a somewhat contained environment. We can put a typo in a headline, and while it may be slightly embarrassing now, at least we know what not to do in the future.

So, apologetically, I will end on a trite note — appreciate what you have and take advantage of it. Don’t be afraid to fail and be sure to try again, because you only have four years to make a fool of yourself.

And trust me, that’s not a very long time.