For the last year of my life, I’ve wanted out of Hoboken, out of Stevens, out of this bubble of a square mile I’ve called home. Of course, I love Hoboken, Stevens, and the people I’ve surrounded myself with these past four years. Despite this, I’ve felt that I’ve outgrown the confines of this city. Hoboken has felt too easy; being here equates to comfort and exploring it no longer feels like a challenge.
On the flip side, it’s also felt like I’m running away from Hoboken with no destination. During my previous semester, I spent copious amounts of time “finding myself,” thinking about future goals, and coming to no concrete conclusions. Everything about my post-graduation life was unknown: (1) what will I do?; (2) where will I live?; (3) when will I figure it out? New questions stemmed from these questions, sprinkled with more philosophical debriefs like am I doing life right? I felt confused, but certain that graduating and leaving this square mile would solve everything. Amidst this chaos, something that always came to mind was a piece of advice my parents gave me: running away from Hoboken won’t answer these questions or make you happier.
The beginning of 2023 brought a change in mindset. I took a break from searching for the answers, and let them come to me. I stopped trying to run away and learned to be grateful for “easy Hoboken.” I’ve felt myself revert back to being sappy about commencement and relishing in pre-graduation cliches. Despite not knowing all of the answers to my questions, I’m excited to start this next chapter of my life. And now with an acceptance to graduate school, slowly the puzzle pieces are falling into place and my life after Stevens has more clarity.
The sweet smell of spring seems near, and I’m being more intentional about how I spend my time; I’m scrambling to try all the restaurants in Hoboken and to check off all the items on my oddly detailed bucket list (still to do: head to Ikea on the ferry, attend a concert solo, check out Sweet Pickle Books, among others). Everything I do already feels nostalgic; it’s like I’m living in the future, watching myself go through the motions of my present life. My wistfulness only grows warmer with the weather. There are just moments, like the one right now where I’m writing this piece, just sitting around with my friends, laptops open, music playing, candle wick burning. These are the moments I’ll miss the most. Hoboken is easy, but it will be hard to let go of.
There’s a beautiful melancholy that comes with reflecting, which I talk about a lot, especially about my time on The Stute. I joined The Stute as a first-year by the recommendation of my freshman year roommate. My first article was about the library’s 50th anniversary, and I still remembered how anxious I was to conduct that first interview with the kindest people working in Archives. I felt that same apprehension going into the positions of News Editor, Managing Editor, and eventually Editor in Chief. Around this time last year, I wrote my first editorial about how the first day jitters never stop, and that if they did, it was time to find a new challenge.
This is my last time writing The Stute Editorial. I’ve debated what I’ve wanted to write about for a while now, and I decided it would only be fitting to write about my lingering feelings about my life, Stevens, and The Stute. I map each year of my life at Stevens to my experience with The Stute, as they are inseparable. I am incredibly grateful to this organization for giving me my “Stute-fam,” life-long friends, and insurmountable opportunities to practice my writing and leadership skills. I will certainly miss having this outlet to share my thoughts with the Stevens community and comment on ideas important to students. The next E-board will bring a wonderful, new perspective to The Stute, and I’m beyond excited to see all that they accomplish.
More reflection: I’ve grown so much. My friends and family have grown so much. The Stute has grown so much. The people I see once every few weeks have grown. My plants have grown. The people I no longer talk to have grown. Nothing is the way that it was, and I couldn’t be happier to embrace these changes. I’ve made so many good decisions, stupid mistakes, and taken risks, just like everyone else. We’ve learned, laughed, sang, studied, cried, and felt about every conceivable emotion together, and it’s shaped our Stevens experience. I’m satisfied.
I’m signing off from this position, no longer feeling those first day jitters. Must mean it’s time for that next challenge.
