Two days ago, I announced to my Odyssey team that I'd be leaving after being a part of the community for two years. Like every college student/up-and-coming adult, I've had a lot of craziness going on to prepare for even more chaos coming up.

Just last month I wrote about my decision to come back to Odyssey last year after taking a break last year. It was a fantastic decision at the time; I missed my teammates' diverse conversations and companionship, but now I need to focus on different things (specifically things related that provide stable pay and are related to my desired career).

Now, I've been sitting at my laptop for nearly five hours, trying to decide what I want to write for my final article. I haven't been one for politics or creative fiction or poetry, and I've already composed my fair share of listicles, playlists, sports editorials, and the like.

I don't have any life-changing advice to share with the Internet after experiencing one new thing (who would take it from a twenty-something-year-old girl who's still in college, anyway?).

I considered writing about what I learned from a TV show or how people are sick of seeing the same two teams in the NBA finals for the last four years.

Instead, I decided to just write.

There's always going to be something new to create, and my team already does a decent job of covering a wide variety of topics. I'm proud of them for not being afraid to publish their ideas despite criticism of their stances and the platform in general. It's admirable, and I'm going to miss this part of my life. It's exactly what has prevented me from leaving sooner—I feared the loss of the friendships I built and the constant encouragement shared every week between the members of my team.

I wish I could be more dedicated, but a combination of maxed-out credit hours and multiple part-time jobs produced the most common reason writers give for leaving: I just don't have the time.

When I became an officer last year, I'd hear this from others who would come and go over the course of semesters, and I always deemed it as an excuse, a lack of passion. Now I'm facing this debate myself.

I've gained the tools of this platform: I don't want to give it up, but if I don't, I won't have time for other opportunities I need under my belt.

Like my time with Odyssey, I used my first two weeks of summer to pull the plug on a lot of things I didn't want to give up. Not because they were pushing me down but simply because they reached their potential. They peaked, plateaued—reached the maximum capacity of what they could give me in return for my work input.

It's time to move on to things that can provide me with benefits greater than or equal to my dedication. It doesn't mean I'm not appreciative of the experiences I've had.

I didn't have a direction in mind when I started this article, but I guess it can serve as encouragement for anyone who's debating moving on from something you care about. This is your sign. It's possible for something you love to hold you back.

Don't let emotional attachment override a sound decision.