Caroline Turner, Opinions Editor 

Everyone tells you your last semester of college will fly by. What they don’t tell you is that it can also feel strangely heavy. On the first day of my final semester of undergrad, I sat at my desk drinking a coffee and scrolling through my syllabi, waiting for the rush of excitement I assumed would come. My calendar had fewer classes and fewer deadlines than it ever had before, but most mornings I woke up with the sense that I was already behind. I spent those early days of that final semester wondering why something I had worked toward for years felt so difficult to arrive at. 

That disconnect—the disorientation and gap between what we expect the final semester to feel like and what it actually feels like—is something we rarely talk about. 

That last semester is framed as a victory lap—lighter schedules, sentimental “lasts,” and the promise that everything you’ve been working toward is finally coming to fruition. But that narrative leaves no room for uncertainty, exhaustion, or grief. When the expectation is gratitude and excitement, any other feelings can feel like failure. If you’re overwhelmed, unmotivated, or oddly detached, it’s easy to assume you’re doing something wrong, rather than recognizing the reality that you’re in the middle of a major transition. 

If you’re in your last semester now, here’s what I wish I had known. 

I wish I’d known I didn’t need to optimize my last semester. You don’t have to know where you’re going to be in five years time. Everyone loves to know about your “five-year” plan, and you might already have one, but it’s also okay if you don’t. At some point, my final semester became a project. I pressured myself to say yes to every opportunity, make strategic choices, and ensure that everything I did counted for something. 

This mindset made small decisions turn into sources of stress. Was I networking enough? Did I choose the right classes? Was I using time wisely? With graduation around the corner, it felt irresponsible to slow down, even when slowing down was what I needed most. 

Looking back, I know hustle culture and productivity haunted me that final semester. But not everything meaningful announces itself as useful. Some moments I remember most clearly weren’t efficient or impressive—they were quiet, ordinary, and unplanned. I didn’t need to optimize my final semester. I needed to live it. 

I wish I’d known that some relationships will naturally change and that isn’t a failure. Growing apart is just a piece of transition. While some of the friends you’ve made throughout your experience will be your friends for the rest of your life, you will grow separately from some of them. 

There are friends whom I spoke to the day we graduated, and I haven’t seen or heard from them since. We’ve kept up through social media, but we grew apart. We didn’t have a long heartfelt goodbye that day, and in some ways that helped me move forward. There doesn’t have to be a goodbye; sometimes it just happens, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about letting people go. 

As I moved into my job and got away from my college town, I found new people. I found new friends and kept in touch with some of the old ones. When I left that job and came back to school, I found new people again. The cycle continues and will continue. You’ll pick up new friends along the way. 

I wish I’d known that not everything about college would come to a clean ending. I assumed there would be a sense of completion—a final class discussion that tied everything together, a final assignment that made me feel like I had accomplished everything and think this is it. Instead, my final semester ended quietly and mid-thought. 

Some classes were wrapped up without resolution. Papers were submitted without the certainty that I had said anything of importance. Questions I had for years didn’t disappear as I closed my laptop at the end of my final class. There was no single moment that marked the transition from “student” to whatever came next—just a gradual drifting away. 

I spent a long time thinking my lack of closure meant I had missed something or failed to appreciate my experience. Now, I know that unfinished doesn’t mean unimportant. Some experiences take time to sink in and settle. I’m still carrying pieces of that semester with me—and I think that’s how it’s supposed to work. 

Finally, I wish I had known that feeling conflicted didn’t mean I was ungrateful. During my last semester, I felt I needed to appreciate everything and savor every moment. I knew I was lucky, and that this experience was something I would miss one day. When my emotions didn’t match that expectation, I assumed something was wrong with me. 

There were days when I was excited about the next steps and when I wanted time to slow down. There were moments of relief that I was almost finished, mixed with moments of sadness that I would never get this time back. There was gratitude alongside resentment. I didn’t know how to let those feelings coexist. I wanted the “right” emotion to win so I could tell myself that everything was okay. 

What I know now is that gratitude doesn’t require clarity, enthusiasm, or certainty. It can exist along with fear, exhaustion, and doubt. If your last semester feels complicated, that doesn’t make you ungrateful—it makes you human. 

I don’t have a checklist for how to finish college “correctly,” but I do know this: if your last semester feels heavy, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re in the middle of something that matters. Endings aren’t always neat, and neither are transitions. You don’t have to optimize this time or make it meaningful on purpose. Just let it be what it is. That, on its own, is enough.