How I Wrote Myself Out of A College Experience: A Confession and A Farewell

My entire life has been consumed with stories. From listening to make-believe tales on the swings to hearing my friend’s latest anecdotes over FaceTime, I find myself enamored with twists and turns, new beginnings, and the narratives we walk into with each step of our lives. 

Three years ago, college appeared as a long sought narrative which had swarmed me for my entire adolescence: by attending university, I would finally receive “the college experience” many called “the greatest four years” of their life.

I remember walking into my dorm for the first time, fingers thrumming with excitement, as I surveyed my surroundings, thinking, “This was it.” The possibilities flitted through my head. Would I meet my new best friends here? Would I become captain of an intramural sports team? Would I actually fulfill the Ring by Spring mantra?

With hopes still high, my freshmen year offered me the opportunity to work as a copyeditor for The Talon, a job perfect for a story enthusiast. Each week, I proofread articles accounting anything from sports to campus news with a catch: while the writers wielded their words, I had to brandish the red pen. 

Although foreign to me at first, I learned how to handle the object. I grew accustomed to the scarlet lines which dug through sentences, ripped through words, crossed and cut, shed and sloughed. While necessary for wordiness in an article, a part of me began to adopt its sentiments too, that less is more, to filter and audit. Little by little, I cut parts of myself away to appeal to the narrative I desired. 

But the red pen could not strike everything. I held fast to the idea that somehow there was a silver lining despite my character being slashed in scarlet. In spite of it all, I believed I was promised an experience myself then could not even sustain. 

I think people want to believe “everything happens for a reason” because they, like me, love good stories. And in a good story, the audience always gets something which makes sense. But the singeing truth is there are rarely reasons for tragedy, heartache, death, and loss, and much of our life will consist of us asking, “Why?”

So while there is not always a silver lining or a consoling “reason” to explain the suffering all of us will inevitably encounter, what we can control is how we present ourselves. Who we show up as. Who we are.

I failed to be myself during my college career. I let the red pen whisper lies, that I was hated and not good enough, and with each biting word which cut deep, the scarlet pen would cut deeper. And because of that, I missed out on so many college experiences in exchange for a tattered version of myself I am still trying to repair. 

There is a risk, of course, with authenticity. The less you tailor yourself to others, the more likely you will find yourself incompatible with someone else’s life. And rejection stings. But it stings more to know I missed out on opportunities I will never get the chance to try again. And I promise you, if there are people out there for me, then there are people out there who are waiting for someone like you to walk into their lives. 

But just because my college experience was not perfect does not mean it was not good. Through joining The Talon, I got to work under Alison Helms and Dominic Bonocore, who taught me everything I knew about strong leadership when I inevitably took on the position of Editor-In-Chief in the 2023-2024 school year. 

Before that, Ann Magner, whose legacy I would be honored to even scratch, mentored me through the copy-editing basics, and without her guidance, I could not be in the position I am today.

Now, I work under Faithanna Olsson, who has a passion for investigative storytelling and journalism unlike I have ever seen. There was no one else I was more willing to pass the title of Editor-In-Chief onto, and I eagerly await to see what she will do for this paper next.

As I bid farewell, I pass my position onto Emily Forster, who is a natural at editing and will only grow better with time. I leave knowing she will keep The Talon in tip-top shape. 

For every writer who has entered and left The Talon, and whose work has wrestled against my red pen, thank you. I am endlessly impressed by the talent which enters the newsroom each year, and I am honored to edit every article I receive. 

To Dr. Patterson, who took a chance on me as a freshman, I will forever be grateful for the opportunity you gave me to work for this paper. The skills I learned here are truly invaluable, and I am beyond thankful for the doors it has opened for me. 

While I could dwell on the fact I missed out on this experience, I know more stories and narratives await me as I enter this next chapter of my life. This time is only a fragment of the experiences which make up who I am. I will not let one story define me. 

At times like this, the red pen proves useful. I no longer listen to its lies. I cross them out instead. 

Let’s tear the red pen through this one together.

We are only a narrative.