I turned 21 this summer and, experienced a quarter-life crisis.

Being broke, I was not able to purchase a red lamborghini or fly off to drown my sorrows in the Aegean sea. Instead, I went to the local bar and met Bob: a 70-year-old Vietnam veteran, and proud grandfather of 12, who will be celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary to his beloved wife Marge, come this December.

Needless to say, I wasn”‘t able to score a hot hookup to ring in my new year.

When I entered my freshman year of college, I viewed the seasoned seniors with a sort of silent adoration. The lanyard was my favorite accessory until the looks it received from my superiors made me second guess its effectiveness.

“Yea, I did, like, twelve shots before I came here,” I lied and told a senior acquaintance at the hottest party of my freshman year.

“Wow,” she said, most likely wondering how the hell I was still alive, much less able to stand.

The seniors drank Blue Moon and Sarnac, while I was hungry enough for the nectar of the gods to drink anything that was alcoholic and moderately sanitary.

But regardless of how much more sophisticated the seniors may have seemed, I couldn”‘t help but feel a bit sorry for the poor suckers who would enter the abyss that is the real world within a matter of months.

As many a corny, sentimental parent may have remarked, time flies.

Three years and a few good stories later, I have entered the position that once seemed so distant. Now, in addition to purchasing my first bottle of anti-wrinkle cream, and feeling the need to ask the age (for legal reasons) of every boy I flirt with, I am overwhelmed with a bittersweet sensation.

I lament the fact that this relaxed lifestyle, which has become too much of a habit, will expire come graduation.

Yet I cannot disguise the excitement I feel for the episode of my life that awaits beyond the Lowry doors.

What I can already detect amongst my classmates is a shared feeling that seems to scream, “lets make the most of what we have left.”

This is not to say there aren”‘t those that are itching to relocate to a town where the population exceeds 20,000, but no senior can deny that they arent slightly cherishing these relatively carefree days, and maybe even the Wooster social scene.

“College is the best time of your life,” said my uncle, who now operates a plumbing business, in the small town that he has refused to leave sincebirth.

As the person beside me vomits on my shoe, and the makeup I so carefully applied melts off in the suffocating heat of the happenin”‘ kegger, I pray that he is wrong.

As my life progresses and I realize that there is a bigger world, a greater fate, and a stronger drive within me, I know that he is.

Stephanie Fuller is a biweekly columnist for the Arts & Entertainment section of the Voice. She can be reached for comment at

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *