Right now, I'm on a lot of second to lasts. It's my second to last semester editing Street. It's my second to last Fling, my second to last bright Philly spring and hellish Philly summer. It's my second to last year as a college student.
Second to last is a bizarre place to be. I know I have one more of whatever's left, which makes it too soon to be sad. I can't mourn yet because I still have time. And yet, I'm close. Second to last means that not only is the end coming—it means that the end is coming soon.
Freshman year, everything felt very, very far away. If I couldn't fully do everything, it was okay, because I had years and years to go. Four years was a long time. Now I'm three years in and I'm left with a lot of second to lasts.
I think the strangest thing is how endless everything seems at first. Even with Street, I felt as though I had a million more productions to go through. Now, as I write this, I'm going through my last production of the semester.
It's weird, looking at everything as half over. I guess this is the point where I should say something encouraging about all that I have left and how much there is left to come. But to be honest, I'm terrified. College is such a luxury, a safety net of time and space and energy. I'm not quite done yet, but all of the sudden the end seems more tangible.