It was 2015. The day was incredibly sunny, and I barely had enough time to say hi to my extended family that flew into town from Arizona. I was too busy. I had places to be, people to see, and my own graduation to attend. I was 18 with a world to conquer before me. I didn’t mind the fact that the day flew by--it was just another day closer to official adulthood. College. The usual big kid adventures. Barely even slowing down, I didn’t even bother to listen to my name called out in front of the throng of peers, parents, and relatives. Pictures were taken. Smiles were given. A mutual feeling of accomplishment was shared. We did it. We were “done.”

Now, as I look at the current seniors graduating a year later, I reprimand my past self of those thoughts. Sure, I finished a chapter in my life, but I was nowhere near “done.” In fact, the events that crushed and delighted me in the year that followed don’t compare in the least to what I learned in high school. These smiles that litter my facebook feed of graduating hopefuls remind me of the passing year and the person that has grown behind a blue cap and gown.

Before college classes even started, I was reminded of how productive everyone is once they’re technically “adults.” Weeks before I could even move into my dorm, class already started for most at big public universities, so I had quite some time to contemplate how productive most people were at college (not to mention that waiting absolutely sucks as well). That time alone also gave me time to grasp the thought of college. I would be dropped into an environment where I would know no one. I hadn’t been exposed to that kind of shin-dig since I was in the fifth grade. Who would I be friends with? Would I even have friends? Would I hate my roommate? How does one even communicate with other humans?

Questions like these always plagued my mind, especially the night before move-in day. But as I fell asleep that night, I just decided to go with the flow. That’s what I did the next day, the following week, and pretty much the entire first semester. I did have friends. I didn’t hate my roommate. An open mind, for me, is the fine line between what keeps me inside my dorm room binge-watching Netflix, and what pushes me out the door to play basketball late into the night with a bunch of strangers the week before classes.

Although having an open mind actually got me places, it didn’t sustain my happiness for long. What I forgot in the middle of the year, was some piece of advice from the all American favorite graduation gift: “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” by Dr. Suess. No one told me that there would be times where I would be lonely. That is, no one but good ol’ Dr. Suess when he said, “Whether you like it or not, alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.”

There were times when loneliness couldn’t be conquered like a classical story villain. Loneliness, I found out, can be like a roommate. I had troubles every so often, and pretty bad troubles at that, but loneliness is that person that everyone has to deal with at some point. That roommate will leave eventually, and so will loneliness. What I had to figure out is how to react to that terrible “roommate” of mine.

So, one night, after I cried on the bathroom floor in my hall, I got up, wiped my tears and decided to be. I decided to be great--to be the person that someone needs when they’re feeling lonely. In other words, I tried to be somewhat of an “adult.”

I want these recent graduates to know that deciding to make that decision isn’t like checking off a chore on a check-list. No one is ever really “done” with officially becoming an adult. Hell, sometimes I still don’t feel anywhere near like an adult, and I know that. I’m more confused than ever after this year. What matters the most is to try. Try to keep an open mind. Try to accept loneliness. Try to be an adult. Most of all, try to be great.