The peanut gallery sat crowded together atop the bleachers. The 10 months of journalism school went by in a caffeinated, sleepless haze. We'd fought like brothers and sisters on an interminable car trip. Some of us were civilized about our journalism: We woke up at a respectable hour, consumed a single cup of coffee, ate our green vegetables and exercised. Others weren't so kind to themselves.
But then we blinked our eyes, and the year was over. The weeks and months holed up in the journalism building on Columbia's campus ended last Wednesday with graduation.
Less than a week removed, school seems a million miles past. There was no time to play Vitamin C's "Graduation" or reminisce. We've already left for home, for new jobs or places in the breadline. We've flown off to California or Connecticut or Mozambique. Or we've just moved on to another building. The days march on, and what once seemed like home is now simply another building where we once used to spend a lot of time.
If we find one solace in the weeks and months to come when we remember fondly our year together, let it be in the lives we'll live and the stories we'll tell each other as we advance together through life. To the Class of 2012, may you ever be gainfully employed. And to the Class of 2013, known internally and in the Twittersphere as #cuj13: Steel yourselves.