As graduation quickly approaches for me, I have grown accustomed to the predictable set of questions I am forced to answer.

“What’s next?”

“How are you ever going to find a job in journalism? Don’t you know that’s a dying field?”

“Are you ready for the ‘real world?’”

I almost feel robotic when answering them — same questions, same old answers.

The truth is simple: I don’t know what comes next. I wholeheartedly believe journalism isn’t dying, but the field is just changing everyday. And if I’m not already living in the “real world,” then I can’t imagine how much more real things can get.

I’ve been counting down the days to graduation since last July. To say I am ready for the next adventure my life holds would be a vast understatement. But as the spring semester started, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of worry and one prevailing thought — has my time at UNA been worthwhile?

We joke around in our office a lot about being ready to be done with our jobs and graduate (at least the ones of us who are preparing to graduate), and while it may hold some truth, I am only just starting to reflect on the time I’ve spent here.

I remember my first day of class here — I was in a marketing class with Dan Hallock. I was younger than anyone else, and it took me almost the entire class period to realize I was in the wrong class.

I’ve sat in many classrooms since then, and I’ve been part of many things on campus. I, like many of you, have had the opportunity to watch the university celebrate successes and struggle through difficult times. Construction has been a constant, and parking will forever be the bane of any student’s existence.

So, in the midst of all of the history taking place around us, I don’t find it to be any coincidence that ‘legacy’ has been coming up a lot lately in my life. Be it someone I’m having a heart-to-heart conversation with or just something that comes up briefly with friends, there’s one more question I’ve been asked recently.

“What will your legacy be?”

I don’t have an answer for that one. It’s nerve-wracking, to be honest. What if I’m remembered forever by my fellow editors for being too hard on them? What if my professors only remember me as the girl who couldn’t show up to class without a cup of coffee and was usually late?

While I will never be able to change lives or have the sort of impact that others do, I want to know that my time here has been worthwhile and meaningful. I want to inform, inspire and educate others on this campus. I want to know that what I’ve done has been a foundation for future students at The Flor-Ala and that my “legacy” will be something to look back on with pride, rather than regret.

So, for those of you who are preparing to graduate in 107 days — and even those who aren’t — I encourage you to begin thinking about your own legacy. What will you contribute to the university? What sort of memories do you hope people have when your name comes up in conversation five years from now?

It’s scary and exciting to think about, but 107 days go by quickly. Four years goes by quickly. Take every chance, have no regrets and leave your legacy as part of the history being built here every single day.