Written by Lauren Smyth
Class gifts. Senior dinners. Yearbook photos. “What are your post-grad plans?” Job applications. Capstone lectures. Career fairs. These, I thought, were all just routine parts of senior year—a little extra work sprinkled on top of the usual lectures, exams, and papers.
It wasn’t until the homecoming football game, where I almost lost my voice cheering with my parents and friends, that it hit me. I’ll never do this again. At least, not like this.
As I walked in the parade before that football game, joined by several other seniors from my dorm, I passed rows of alumni who were looking on, cheering, and singing with us. It looked like fun, up there beside the tailgates and souped-up blue-and-white trailers—but it’s a different kind of fun. That was when I first started to realize that leaving doesn’t mean never coming back. But graduating means something has changed, and these last few months are a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I still have to work hard, but more importantly, I have to cherish this.
My four years at Hillsdale will be the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. I don’t know the road names, but I can find my way around without a GPS. I know where to buy the smoothest lattes, swap used books, and treat friends to sticky apple fritters. I know the best study corners, quiet spots for phone calls, dark places for counting shooting stars, where to buy snacks after the cafeteria closes, and where I’m most likely to find study buddies to review notes with before class.
The past four years feel both long and short. Long, because I look back to my time as a freshman and realize that I’ve become an adult who can pay taxes, cook dinner, and make friends with strangers. Short, because there are still plenty of things I don’t know about this campus. (Physics is in the basement of Dow … or is it Strosacker? What about chemistry? Biology?) Hillsdale has prepared me to explore the world and try new things, but it has also become one of my favorite places to stay, work, play, and rest.
The top floor study room in the Sohn women’s dorm, where I live, is unofficially called the Observation Deck. It’s fair game for dorm residents, who often use the space to host parties, watch movies, and play board games. But for my roommate, our hall RA, and me, it’s also an extension of our personal study spaces. On the right side of the room, you’ll usually find my entire net worth—my laptop, charging cables, special coffee mug, and a giant stuffed duck named Lewis.
“You left that stuff in a public space?” a friend, not from Hillsdale, once asked me. I laughed. Of course I did! It’s safe here. Safe to shut your books and take a nap in the middle of the library. Safe to leave your car keys and wallet on a table in the dining hall to let others know you’ll be back. Safe to let friends borrow your car. It’s not just because we signed an honor code—though we all shared that experience freshman year. It’s because we hold fast to the same values. Simply put, we treat each other the way we want to be treated, and we push each other forward instead of holding each other back.
Four years ago, I stood on the front porch of the McIntyre women’s dorm and watched my parents drive out of the parking lot. Until then, everything had been new and exciting. Now it was just new. But I blinked back the tears because I was a brand-new adult, and I wasn’t about to cry in public. Right when I thought I had it together, I glanced at the girl on the other side of the porch, who was also waving good-bye to her parents. We looked at each other, burst into tears, and met in the middle for a bear hug.
Two years later, we celebrated a mutual friend’s birthday by adding an extra layer of clothing every time we lost a round of a card game. I had a pair of leggings on my arms. The girl I’d stood on the porch and cried with had a scarf on her head. Now we were almost crying again, but this time only because we were laughing so hard.
She isn’t the only friend I’ve kept since my first hours on Hillsdale’s campus. Just recently, at an event to announce our senior class gift, I toasted s’mores with the girls I’d met at Welcome Party freshman year.
“I was standing over there,” one of them recalled, pointing toward a line of trees and food trucks, “because I didn’t know anyone yet. So I just walked up to you—” my roommate and me “—because you didn’t seem to know anyone, either.” The three of us have been friends ever since, trading economic jokes over group chats, meeting for a quick lunch between classes, and writing letters over the summer.
My marshmallow caught fire just as the class gift was announced. From henceforth and forevermore—as soon as we get funding and a construction crew—there will be a fire pit in front of the Lane Hall classroom building. It will commemorate that we were here, and we will go out into the world with a deep love for this community. We want future students to love it, too. A tip from the pros: If you’re going to eat a burned marshmallow, stuff it between graham crackers and eat it with friends. Everything is better that way.
As I’m preparing to meet the halfway mark of my senior year, I try to spend time each day in quiet appreciation of my surroundings. Savor the coffee. Stay up a little later watching spy movies with friends. Hike through Hayden Park. Take lots of photos. And someday, I tell myself, I’ll get to see all of this from a new angle when I come back for the regularly scheduled alumni events, connect with former classmates, and catch up with my friends long after we graduate.
To the people and places of Hillsdale College: Thank you. I love you. I don’t know exactly when it will happen, but I do know I’ll be back.
Lauren Smyth, ’25, is an economics major and journalism minor. Outside of starting arguments in philosophy class, she enjoys curling up on a bench outdoors (sun, rain, or snow) to write novels or articles for her blog, www.laurensmythbooks.com.
Published in November 2024
