Please bear with me as I write this — I’m a bit embarrassed. When I first learned that senior columns are a tradition at The Daily Iowan and that they’re printed for everyone to see, a wave of anxiety passed through me like a ghost drifting through the current inhabitants of its former home.
Where would I begin? What would I include? How could I summarize my time at Iowa or describe myself in just a few words? Why should I write about myself at all? Too many details seemed relevant to my story, but I lacked the courage to share them.
This might come as a surprise, but as someone who writes — and talks — for a living, I’m deeply uncomfortable writing about myself. I’ve always been the kid who slinks away when it’s time for pats on the back and victory laps. The thought of publicly celebrating myself for what feels like a given — graduating — is terrifying.
Even now, I find myself filling paragraphs with thanks to my parents, siblings, loved ones, and every person I hold dear. That speaks to what I believe: Graduating from Iowa isn’t just my accomplishment; it’s theirs.
There are far too many people to thank and not enough pages in The Daily Iowan to do so. The safest place to start is with my mom — it only makes sense because she’s always been the safest place in my life.
Mom, I adore you. There is no world where I exist without you. All the obvious aside, you have given me life when I have been callous and cruel. You epitomize a mother’s love.
From your carefully curated playlists to the monthly “I miss you” boxes to the hours spent rubbing my head during migraines, you’ve poured every part of yourself into making me who I am. I am my mother’s daughter, and there’s nothing in this world that brings me more joy.
In the same way I am my mother’s daughter, I am my father’s heart.
Dad, I know how many years of multiple jobs, grueling work, and demanding schedules it took to ensure I had the opportunities and resources you didn’t. There isn’t a world where you wouldn’t move heaven and earth to make my dreams possible.
Without you, I wouldn’t have had the courage to return to college. You may not have had a magic wand to solve all my problems, but you’ve always had a heart of gold and a work ethic that would exhaust even the fiercest competitor.
Cassidy, you are the greatest friend I’ve ever known. How lucky are we that two awkward, curious, and at times brazen little girls found each other and now get to spend a lifetime together?
And for all the times I denied it — you’re right. I copy you, and I don’t feel an ounce of shame about it. I’ll keep doing it for as long as you let me.
Connor, I don’t think a chemist could’ve designed a better big brother than you. You’re fiercely protective of my heart and joy. If you’re around, there’s always a place for me. Now that I’m older, I hope you know there’s always a place for you with me, too.
To both Connor and Cassidy: In another life, I like to think we live down the hall from one another forever. And at every Paramore concert that comes to town, Cassidy and I are standing on the table while Connor fends off security guards telling us to get down.
Campbell, you pulled me out of what was a very lonely life on campus and immersed me in your world. I’m forever indebted to the ways you’ve changed me. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have written this column.
I’m not one for grand gestures of emotion, but you’ve honored my sensitivity and held it with such grace. You’ve also pushed me forward every time I’ve tried to hide behind you — or someone else. You’ve been, and always will be, the better half of our life.
I came to Iowa thinking I would undergo this transformation of self, and in some ways, I suppose I did. My fundamental beliefs didn’t change nor did my nature. But I’m a little closer to the person I was at four, eight, and 13.
I pour my heart into everything. I make impulsive choices and run to the safety of my family and partner when I need saving. I look through old photos as if that version of me is looking back. If she is, I hope she sees that there’s something — and someone — to be proud of.
As I close this chapter at Iowa, I’m reminded that growth isn’t always about becoming someone new — it’s about becoming more of who you’ve always been. The friendships, lessons, and challenges I’ve encountered here have shaped me, but at my core, I’m still the same person I’ve always been.
Leaving this campus feels bittersweet, but I carry with me the love, support, and memories that have defined the last three years. If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Life is less about where you end up and more about the people who walk alongside you on the journey. Thank you to everyone who’s walked with me — you’ve made all the difference.