I’ve been going back and forth on what to write for this column all year. I’ve been brainstorming and jotting down ideas since September — seriously, check my notes app. But one idea has stuck with me from the very beginning, a “philosophy” I have carried with me for years now — the belief that there is no such thing as wasted time.

To be honest, I first read that in a TikTok comment years ago, but it is an idea I return to nearly every day. I wish I could say I read it in some meaningful book or on a reflective Pinterest binge, but that isn’t true. Some random commenter, some random day, on some random video ultimately changed the way I view my life, my relationships and nearly everything I’ve done these last couple of years.

I wanted to write something poetic or hard-hitting for my final column at TPN, maybe one last banger of a political or media take. But that wouldn’t have been true to what I actually wanted to say. I would be lying to myself if I squeezed one final opinion out of the recesses of my brain or forced a soliloquy of words and imagery from my soul. I am not poetic. I am not a person full of beautiful words or profound thoughts. I am just someone reflecting honestly.

When I was diagnosed with OCD — on my 21st birthday, of all days — I realized I had been living my life according to some sort of strange logic my brain decided was fact. A plethora of strange rituals and thought patterns I was continuously getting stuck in and living by.

I was taking three sips of water to ward off bad things, saying things like “talk to you later” to ensure I would see the person again, and staying up late just to go to bed at a time that ended at five or 10. If I forgot something and had to walk back into my bedroom, I would walk in and out again for a third time just to make sure all would be OK. If I thought I walked through the door four times, I’d walk in and out a set number of times until it felt right, until I decided that the number of times wouldn’t lead to anything terrible happening. Sometimes that meant five times. Sometimes nine. It was an exhausting dance of counting and recounting until my brain gave me the green light to move forward.

This way of thinking is draining. It is exhausting. And while my OCD has gone from “severe” to “moderate” in the past year thanks to exposure therapy and ERP, I spend many hours of my week fretting that I was accidentally rude to a stranger on the street, that I am terminally sick or if I just had my last-ever interaction with someone I love.

And while this whole “no such thing as wasted time” philosophy may resonate in my OCD-ridden brain a little more than the average person, when you remove all the overthinking, rituals and compulsions, I still think it is a good philosophy to have and hold dear.

I live my life the way I want to. I have little to no regrets. I am the last person in the world to get FOMO, a near antithesis to my OCD, considering how often my brain focuses on what could go wrong.

As I write this, my closest friends are scrambling to plan “one last function” before we all go our separate ways. And while I love them deeply and am looking forward to one last hoo-rah, I don’t feel a burning need to wrap up my college experience with a bow. Not because I don’t care, but because I already feel full. Every moment I have spent with them — whether it is at Hemingway’s laughing over that day’s specialty pitchers, on the ratty couch that sits in my apartment below a tapestry of Gibby from “iCarly” or at the coffee shop behind my apartment building — has mattered. None of these memories are special because we declared them so, they are special because we shared them. No “final function” is going to make it final — it’ll just be more time spent together. And that, in itself, is enough

From late-night hangouts I didn’t want to end to plans I bailed on early when I was socially exhausted, none of that is wasted. It all fueled our friendships and who we are as people. We got to know each other just a little more with each hangout, party and passive-aggressive disagreement. None of it wasted, even when we had other things to do or could have been anywhere else in the world.

I’ve been dating the same guy for the last three and a half years. I love him. He’s amazing. He buys me a full dinner almost every week, drives me to the grocery store so I don’t have to take the bus and treats me with a soft and steady kindness I don’t always think I deserve.

I’ll be realistic and say I don’t know what is going to happen moving forward, whether we’ll break up or stay together forever. But I know that our time together wasn’t wasted. I could have been single, dated someone else or done anything in between these last four years. No matter the outcome, I will never look back on this time as wasted. I will never look back on college wishing I did something different. 

There are countless other things I could have done with my time than write for The Pitt News. I could have been in leadership at more clubs, written for a different Pitt publication or not written at all. I could have studied abroad, chosen a different major or had a different group of friends. All of those possibilities exist elsewhere outside of what I can even comprehend. But what I chose to do, how I’ve spent my life each day for the last four years, is not wasted time, even when an infinite number of possibilities exist. Every day, every choice brought me here. Made me who I am. Gave me what I have.

One could sit back and look at their college experience, and even their life up till now, and wish they did things differently. There are a few small things I might’ve done differently if given a do-over — maybe studied for the LSAT differently, maybe picked a different minor — but even those little regrets live in the realm of “what-ifs.” They’re not worth trading for everything I’ve gained, for the slightly or completely different person I might be. I don’t know them, I don’t want them. 

Nothing I have ever done has been wasted time — it all has made me who I am today. Full of love and loved by others. Passionate about the ones and causes I care about. Ready — and maybe a bit scared — to embark on what comes next.

My friends have taught me to embrace the unknown and be spontaneous. Our time together wasn’t wasted.

My partner taught me how to love romantically and be loved. Our time together wasn’t wasted.

My time at The Pitt News has taught me to be an advocate and write with a strong, powerful voice. My time here wasn’t wasted.

My family continues to teach me to be courageous and keep compassion at the center of everything that I do. Our time together is never wasted.

I want more time with all these people and places, and while I hope I will have more time with the people, the places I will have to leave behind. My OCD wants certainty, a plan, a promise that everything will be okay. But life doesn’t work out that way.

This might be the last written piece I ever publish on the internet. I don’t know. I hope not. This might be the last week all my college friends are in the same room as each other. I don’t know. I hope not. 

There will be a last phone call, a last hug, a last day in class, and a last time on the University of Pittsburgh campus. No one knows when those moments will be. You can’t predict them — trust me, I’ve tried.

But what I do know is this — the time I’ve spent with the people I love and in the spaces that have shaped me has mattered. It has made me who I am today.

None of that has been wasted. It couldn’t ever be.

Thank you Mom, Dad, Landon, Papa and Grandma for your unconditional love and support. Thank you to my amazing and considerate friends and boyfriend, incredibly talented writers and fellow editors and to everyone else who has walked this path with me these last four years. Every moment with you was time well spent — none of it wasted, all of it meaningful.