“But these will be the best four years of your life!”
It’s what people told me the first time I dropped out of college as an almost-19-year-old buckling under the pressure of needing time and space to figure out what she wanted her life to be and help her mental health, while simultaneously needing to pick a major, a city, and a career plan before she could even legally drink alcohol.
“You know this is your future?” I remember the woman in the registrar’s office informing me with the tone reserved for parents catching their kid sneaking back into the house after a night out.
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