I once knew a metaphor that would have fit perfectly here.

Sadly, I can’t think of it now. In general, I prefer to just be the metaphor instead of actually saying it. (That’s deep, write that down.) Life is better served lived than talked about. But that’s what I do. I tell stories.

This just happens to be the last one.

I’m graduating (hopefully) in May. At the very least, I’ll be walking across the stage. That’s further than I’ve gotten before. Thanks to some errors in the registrar’s office, my name has appeared in the graduation program each of the last two semesters. I was even in the College of Communications slide show last May. Someone just really wants me to leave.

I have never been one to rest on my laurels, but let’s do it anyway. In my tenure here, I have received 34 parking tickets. I have been enrolled in Spanish 211 four times (withdraw pass, failure, incomplete, miracle). I gave a university president, John W. Shumaker, a nickname that stuck (Shudaddy).

But then there are all the homosexual references to the Scarabbean Senior Society (you’re gay, we get it) and less than tasteful references to prostitutes … er, I mean … sorority girls. Do I view any of this as an accomplishment? No, but damn it was fun.

There is this conception that college is the best time of your life. I’ve never understood this. Do you remember kindergarten? I’d kill for preset nap times and “Ducktales” again. If you do look at life like this, basically, you people get your degree, pose for the photo and then commit suicide. Really, what else do you have to live for? There has to be more to it than that. Life only slows down if you put your foot on the brake. (Write that one down, too.)

That is the natural reaction, though … to stop. We spend all of our childhood fighting the uphill battle of puberty, hormones and superficiality just to get here. Unless you’re from Farragut, of course. Then you have the burden of tennis lessons.

Then what? For most people the answer consists of one of three things: law school, medical school or marriage. It’s structure and we love it.

In elementary school everything seems so simple on the path to greatness. You study hard. You make good grades. You go to a university. You study hard. You make good grades. You get a job. You work hard. You make good grades.

My path was going well. I studied hard. I made good grades. I went to a university. I studied hard. I met beer. Then the cycle broke down. But we’re not apathetic because we drink. We drink because we’re apathetic. If you ever take a long look around a college bar, you’ll see a couple hundred kids celebrating the good times, trying to get tail and all of them wondering “Where am I going with this?”

Some of my friends tried validating their existence with responsibility. They went into student government, they headed their fraternity or maybe they even became a resident assistant. For others Jim and Jack answered the call. Unsure about life … get plastered. You’ll reach new levels of philosophical insight while facedown in a trash can.

I tried a little of both, and found this. I’m now the full-time employee for a newspaper, and I’ve never had a journalism class — not one. I only started working for The Beacon out of summer school boredom. So much for the whole path thing.

I know I’m not alone here with the whole realization that life doesn’t fall into the cookie cutter shapes we envision as children. I just wish Mrs. Easterly hadn’t lied to me in third grade.

MRS. EASTERLY: OK class, I want you all to think about what you want to be when you grow up. Remember, if you work hard, you can be anything. Yes, Glenn?

ME: How about a transformer?

MRS. EASTERLY: Well, no … I guess you can’t be a transformer. That’s not real.

ME: How about an astronaut? I want to fight space aliens.

MRS. EASTERLY: Um … sure.

You can’t imagine how pissed I was that first day of class at NASA.

The only thing you can do is find something that makes you happy and roll with it. For me, I want to make movies. Do I have any clue how I’m going to do that? No. Do I have any valuable internships or experience in film? No. Again, so much for the whole path thing. I’ve got ambition, and that seems to be good enough.

I don’t really know where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been. On that note, I’d like to acknowledge the following people: to Allen, my best friend that I never see — sorry about all the food I stole from you; to Gary, you’re married and not living here, so I can say this … I did your sister; to One From Glowing, I love you guys; to John Brice, thanks for the job and occasional sandwich; to ATodd, you’re better than this place; to the Jew, get me into Hollywood; to Tool McFool, McCallie sucks; to Grant, please send the cat home instead; to J.J. Brown and Ron Laffitte, I always had a better day when I saw you on campus; to Tri-Delt, I just bought one of your Bid Day T-shirts and can I say I look awesome in yellow; to Shafer’s Dad, adopt me; to Wes Rucker and Tim Vacek, thanks for the foundation; to Laura Pack, the proposal’s still there; to Jason, I’m still mad you never use the word (EDIT); to Polo, Marco.

Thanks to everyone that read my stuff and enjoyed it and then gave me that little taste of celebrity. I hope to make you proud someday at a higher level. I’ve never liked goodbyes, and I hate endings. The end of this is just the beginning of something else. Some other jackass will arise next semester to insult frat boys and tell you about that time he got punched in the face.

I’m just happy I got to do it for a little while. Now if I could only remember that metaphor.

— Glenn LaFollette is a super-senior in journalism and electronic media. He can be reached at [email protected].