A STARTLING REALIZATION HIT me when I powered up my computer to begin writing this week̢۪s column.

This is my last article of the semester. More pointedly than that, this is my last article of my undergraduate career.

I would be lying if I said I hadn̢۪t been aware of the narrow stretch of time between my degree and me back in January.

For that matter, the past 15 weeks have consisted of an incessant tick-tocking in my noggin, perpetually reminded that the end is near.

But now, in the first week of May, I̢۪m forced to confront all of the speculations, fears, and neuroses that have been plaguing me for quite some time.

My only source of graduation knowledge to draw from was my high school commencement back in 2004.

It wasn̢۪t memorable, save for the promises made in old yearbook scribbles that those closest to you would always remain in your life.

As some of us know all too well, that̢۪s baloney. People come and people go, and part of growing up is recognizing that insulating yourself too deeply in ill-conceived notions of what the future might resemble is more damaging than beneficial.

It offered hope for an uncertain fate, and then you stop needing it because you realize that college isn̢۪t that scary after all.

But now, on the eve of a graduation that takes place in little more than two weeks, I find myself grasping at straws for that same hope, that tangible something-or-other that will make life livable come the rest of forever.

I̢۪m reminded of the friends that have come and gone, post-high school and otherwise. Of dropouts, burnouts and flakes. Of missed opportunities and those I seized. Of classes worth every penny, and those that made me want to gouge out my brain.

And I think that the wholeness of the experience is what I should take memories from, not the fear of leaving behind the undergraduate nest and some of my closest relationships.

A wise, newly-found friend recently offered up some much needed wisdom: that we never get anymore time than we have, and that for all any of us know, tomorrow might be it; we should enjoy what it is we have while we have it, and worry about everything else as it unfolds.

Mind you, she said this with only a few weeks until she moves to Oakland with her husband and begins teaching summer courses at Stanford. Though it would be easy to dismiss her quote with a wave of my cynicism, I can̢۪t help but feel its resonance.

Maybe she̢۪s right.

Maybe it will be tragic to leave some of you behind, maybe downright devastating at first.

In spite of it, I̢۪m forced to confront that the future must be navigable, or else more people would have drinking problems than already do.

I don̢۪t especially have a choice at this point. I̢۪ve accepted that I̢۪m going to grad school, that it̢۪s time to find a real job (albeit an entry-level one where I shuffle files to keep busy), that I cannot rely (heavily) on my parents to get me out of debt.

And I say with absolute clarity that it is absolutely frightening to conceive this reality for myself.

Alas, I don̢۪t have a say in the matter, and neither do any of my fellow class of 2007 members.

It̢۪s time to suck it up. You should be scared; I have no doubt that some of us will fail miserably.

That said, it isn̢۪t necessarily the end product of an experience that we should assign a value to; success shouldn̢۪t be measured with a one-size-fits-all yardstick.

It̢۪s the pride in knowing that we tried our hardest, our best.

And though all of the aforementioned is much too cliché and sentimental for me ordinarily, it proved to be the only way to make sense of what’s to come for myself and the other graduates.

And it is my sincere hope that that counts for something.