I've had writer's block before, but never anything like this.
My last first day of classes, my last Tailgate, my last Duke basketball game, my last fraternity meeting and my last LDOC. They came and they went, and I just had to deal with it. Now I'm supposed to write my last Chronicle article. A senior column, I'm forced to call it, like a self-written obituary for my college career.
"Matthew Iles, 2005-2009. He'll be remembered, for a few years at least."
Grim, yes, but no matter how many last [insert significant college events here] you experience, the feeling never gets less weird. It was enough pressure when our parents told us these would be the best four years of our lives, and now all I keep thinking is, "Well, damn, I guess I had a lot of fun, but is it really all downhill from here?"
I didn't go abroad, I didn't climb the Chapel, I didn't walk the East Campus tunnels and I didn't do some other things not fit for print. It's sad, but I couldn't help but use the phrase "I didn't" over and over when I recently assessed my college career for the first time.
But then I was reminded what it's really all about-the friends, the stories, the laughs. After all, as one friend put it when discussing her intentions to cruise through her remaining finals: "'C's get degrees." And even though my transcript doesn't reflect a strict adherence to that mantra-that would invoke parental wrath the likes of which the crime briefs have never seen-I'd like to think I lived my college years with it as my guiding principle.
I did push the short-term illness privilege to the limit, I did learn and embrace the beauty of road trips, I was a football beat writer and I did go to every Tailgate and I did get lucky enough to surround myself with wonderful, supportive, diverse and hilarious friends. Friends who will bring new stories and more laughs, even if our proximity is farther, our absences longer and our birthdays harder to swallow.
In the end, I might have just feared the unknown. Not the typical "What's going to be my job/home/salary?" fears; no, those are still very terrifying indeed. But rather the unknown that nags from behind the question: "Did I make the most of it?" If you let it, it's a second-guessing mechanism so powerful that you'd think every choice you've made is a regrettable one. If you embrace the unknown, though, and instead call it "Who I am," then you learn to love your mistakes as much as your successes.
Then you can just focus on what's most important: the present. And presently, I'm an unemployed graduating senior with no idea what city and what profession I'll be in for the next year. And although I can spend my time worrying about the future or nitpicking my past for ways I could have prevented that reality, I'll spend my time where I should be-with friends, making stories, having laughs.
And if that happens to include my last night at Shooters, then thank goodness. And if that happens to include my last night in the gardens, then thank God. No matter what happens, though, it'll be me. It's that kind of perspective that has helped me begin to see these events not as the last, but as lasting.
So then let my obituary read: "Matthew Iles, 2005-2009. He'll always remember those precious few years."
Matt Iles is a Trinity senior and sports managing editor.
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