I hate goodbyes. I hate them so much that I even considered not writing this farewell column. There is too much pressure to say exactly the right words. This column should be my magnum opus, but after four years of writing columns, I doubt that will be the case. For the first time, I'm not starting with a clear-cut idea; I do not have an issue I feel strongly enough about to rant, nor do I have a dazzling personal experience to retell. All I have is a stream of memories from the past four years and an uncertainty about the future. I thought I was ready to graduate. Despite advice to stay in college forever from many of my older friends who have already entered the "real world," I was excited to move on to bigger and better things. But as the day quickly approached I began to get scared. I don't think I'm as ready as I once thought I would be. The feeling is eerily similar to the feeling I had almost four years ago as I entered my first-year dorm for the first time.

It is amazing how quickly you develop a sense of comfort. Four years ago, Brandeis seemed intimidating; now it is a bastion of comfort and familiarity. Unlike my experience arriving at Brandeis, in the real world I will have no orientation other than a landlord asking for my rent check and my boss telling me what needs to be done. I will not have the luxury of waking up for my first class at 11 a.m. or going out until 3 a.m. on a Wednesday night.

But as apprehensive as I am about making this transition, part of me is also excited to see what will come next. While studying abroad last year, I realized that the best piece of advice I could give to anyone going overseas would be to make yourself uncomfortable. It was the moments I felt most uncomfortable that I ended up benefiting from the most. It was the situations I dreaded that are now my favorite stories to tell.

I give myself the same advice for next year. I feel lucky to have the opportunity to start anew, even though it will inevitably be a period of some discomfort and adjustment. We benefit from the fact that we do not remain stagnant. We must move on.

One of my favorite movies, L'auberge Espagnole, is about a French college student who decides to spend a year in Barcelona after graduation. Upon arriving in his new home, he comments, "When you first arrive in a new city, nothing makes sense. Everything's unknown, virgin ... After you've lived here, walked these streets, you'll know them inside out. You'll know these people. Once you've lived here, crossed this street 10, 20, 1000 times ... it'll belong to you because you've lived there. That was about to happen to me, but I didn't know it yet."

Four years ago I had no context in with which to understand this quote. But now I do; the Brandeis campus and the streets around my apartment in Paris became homes to me. I was able to translate my initial fear into two of the best experiences of my life. With this in mind, it is comforting to know that despite my initial discomfort next year, it will eventually fade into what will hopefully be another great experience. Now that I've realized this, I'm excited to walk down the streets where "nothing makes sense." Hopefully, I will be able to profit from this fear and eventually the unknown streets will belong to me just like Brandeis does now.

Samantha Slater '05 is a former Justice forum editor.