The next three months probably seem terrible to you right now. By March, you’ll know exactly where you’re spending the next four years of your life. You’ll be disappointed when your college counselor tells you can’t seriously apply to thirty schools, you’ll nervously open admissions portals and check your decisions, you’ll be incredibly frustrated when decisions come out at 4pm and you have class until 4:15 p.m., and you’ll be so relieved when it’s all over and you’re finally done.

Before my high school graduation, all the seniors wrote Senior Wills to a few of the underclassmen we were closest to. To your entire class, there’s so much I want to will.

First off, I will you all a stress-free, relaxed college application process filled with FAFSA scholarship money, reusable essays, reliable internet connections, and green checks on your CommonApp accounts.

For the remainder of your high school experience, I will you countless late night talks that you will regret at 8 a.m., but you won’t regret 8 months later. I will you many games of “Would You Rather,” “Never Have I Ever,” and “Odds” to play with the girl you used to call your sophomore year lab partner, but who you now call your sister. I will you all of the senior things you’ve been waiting for - an amazing Senior Road Trip to wherever it may be (Six Flags, Michigan, Indiana Dunes), the perfect prom, a flawless senior portrait, the best senior quote, a class ring, a creamy diploma to hang on your wall, and a silver tassel to hang from the rearview mirror in your mom’s van. I will you a teary graduation during which you’ll fall asleep during the President’s address, but your parents will be recording every minute of it. I will you a cap that fits you properly, a gown with sleeves that aren’t too long, and a pair of shoes you won’t trip in as you take the shortest, and longest, fifteen-second walk of your life to shake the principal’s hand.

I will you the ability to soak up every last minute of your senior year and embrace the senioritis. I hope you realize sometime during second semester that it is perfectly okay to prioritize your social life over your academic life, because there will be thousands more tests and homework assignments, but your days with your best friends are limited. I will you the ability to go to teachers’ offices and tell them how thankful you are for everything, the ability to tell your parents that you’re going to miss them and that you love them, and the ability to tell your siblings that you’ll probably cry when you tell them goodbye.

Now, in college, I will you a roommate in college that was as kind, caring, and intelligent as mine. I will you an unlimited calling plan that you’ll make incredible use of during the first few weeks, when you’re absolutely convinced you have to call your parents three times a day. I will you a Skype account and a functioning webcam, so you can see the way your little brother gets wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughs. I will you someone to look over your essay drafts, to eat meals with you, to use meal swipes on you when you forgot your ID, to lend you their calculator when you forgot yours, and to walk with you to CVS to buy some gum and staples. I hope you join lots of clubs that interest you, but I also know that you’ll drop 3 of them by October when you realize you overcommitted.

I will you lots of Tide Pods and an unlimited meal plan. I will you a new TV show to watch with your roommates, classes that you’re truly passionate about, deep conversations about life and the universe and God with your orientation groups, and free trips to apple orchards and local shows. I hope that you talk about absolutely everything and absolutely nothing.

I do not will you rooms with no air-conditioning, surprise fire alarms, three-hour nights labs, 8am sociology lectures, impossible physics problem sets, super expensive textbooks, and 20-minute walks to your nearest class. However, if you do end up having them anyways, I will you a fan, a lot of good dining hall coffee, upperclassmen who will sell you their books for cheap, and a bike.

It might be strange that I’m writing this to you so early on in your senior year, when you feel like you have forever to go. But trust me, it goes so much faster than you think, and I never want you to regret that you didn’t cherish every moment. To you, to the Class of 2017, more than anything else, I will you the most incredible, unforgettable senior year.