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A rough draft of the future

Laker Notes

MYSOREEver since I graduated from high school, the idea of actually going to college has seemed far away. College has been something I’ve pushed to the back of my mind, like a book I’ve wanted to read for a long time, but never really got around to reading.

I’m used to telling people that I leave for college in a couple of months, or two months, or a month. Now, however, I can’t avoid it anymore. I’m leaving for college. The thing that has forever seemed far away, like a clumsy rough draft of the future, has now turned final.

Of course, I’m experiencing many emotions about college and leaving home, including excitement and a little fear. I’m going to miss my family and the places I’ve grown to call home. I’m going to miss the feeling of home itself, for it’s a feeling of comfort and familiarity.

But I don’t want to talk about leaving for college for this entire column. Instead, I want to tell you what writing these columns and sharing pieces of myself through them has meant to me.

It has meant that there is a possibility that you, whoever you might be, have connected to my words and found pieces of yourself in them. It has meant that maybe sharing stories of my awkwardness and shyness has allowed you to feel better about your quirks or insecurities.

It has meant that I’ve been able to meet outstanding people who’ve bettered my writing and given me an outlet to say what’s on my mind.

Most of all, it has meant that there is possibility, always, in the rough draft.

I still don’t know what I want to do in life, and I don’t plan to find out exactly what it will be anytime soon. Writing these columns, though, has shown me that there are possibilities. When you love something as much as I love writing, there are always possibilities.

Words have possibilities. Every time I sat down to write a column, I didn’t know what to write. I’d stare for a while at the blank page and the cursor blinking at me, and I’d just start writing anyway. After a while, I saw something calming about this blankness, because I wasn’t confined to saying any one thing.

Likewise, there is something comforting about uncertainty. I’m moving across the country to New Haven, Conn., to attend Yale University, and I don’t know what to expect. I bought a winter coat and boots, but who knows? I still might freeze in the snow. I don’t know what to expect from living with a bunch of young strangers completely away from my home, but I think I’m ready for it nonetheless.

I’m ready for it because this feeling of not knowing, I’ve learned, is essential to eventually knowing, for it’s helped me to write these columns and to be hopeful.

Further, it’s allowed me to garner possibilities, and I’m quite content with the ones my uncertainty has acquired thus far. If it’s true that my columns have made you laugh or feel a little better in your own skin, then I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

I think it’s important to look back and consider why we do the things that we do. For me, I’ve attached myself so strongly to the written word in the past years in the hopes that people will read what I write and find themselves in it.

As I trudge forward in my rough draft of the future, I, like you, am inevitably going to make some spelling mistakes and grammatical mistakes. (Let’s be honest: Every other sentence will probably be a fragment.)

In the end, however, if the words we can decipher from our error-filled stories mean something to ourselves and to others, then we’ll know it’s all been worthwhile.

It’s been a joy to share my thoughts with you this past year, Lake Oswego, and I wish you all the best. In the meantime, if you have any extra coats, scarves or boots, send them my way.

Lake Oswego High School 2016 graduate Meghana Mysore was one of two Laker Notes columnists for the 2015-16 school year and this summer. This is her last column. She is a talented writer with a bright future ahead of her, and we here

at The Review will miss her a lot. Contact her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..