Senior column by Alexis Ziebelman | My third column
“I don’t like to write” should have been my first tweet. Writing and tweeting: two areas I should have learned to love and excel in after four years at the Daily Pennsylvanian but yet, I do not.
“I don’t like to write” should have been my first tweet. Writing and tweeting: two areas I should have learned to love and excel in after four years at the Daily Pennsylvanian but yet, I do not.
The day I decided to run for Managing editor of the DP was the day my life changed forever.
I have this theory about life and regret. Senior year, and senior spring in particular, seems to be a perfect, natural time to think through these types of existential questions: it’s this inflection point, one where we break from the bubble of college into full on adulting.
I always tell people that my semester abroad in Paris was the highlight of my time at Penn. That’s partly because I was able to live in another country, speak a foreign language and see the world.
The day I decided to run for Managing editor of the DP was the day my life changed forever.
I have this theory about life and regret. Senior year, and senior spring in particular, seems to be a perfect, natural time to think through these types of existential questions: it’s this inflection point, one where we break from the bubble of college into full on adulting.
Graduation is the biggest cliché. It’s paper plates in aisle one of Party City, it’s the “Keep Calm and Carry On” dorm room poster of momentous occasions, it’s the Murray Hill of post-grad addresses.
When I arrived in Philadelphia, the airline lost my luggage. I remember the first time I made my way down Woodland Walk (before construction began on the new dorm).
“We are unable to offer you a position on the 131st Board. Sorry.” I stood in silence, phone to my ear, as the already fragile world of my junior fall completely crumbled. The Daily Pennsylvanian had been my defining activity at Penn.
Goodbye means leaving. It means packing everything up, arranging for a destination, shipping half your life and moving on.
To say I am bad with change and endings would be an understatement. I was that kid who cried on the last day of elementary school every year.
Last year, I was privileged enough to attend convocation for the incoming class of Penn freshmen as an honorary guest.
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