A discussion about graduation in The Collegian office recently shoved reality so close to my face, that the concept and I nearly kissed.

As I sat with my colleagues who, over time, have become some of my dearest friends, the topic of graduation (ooo, scary) came up, methodically and dooming as it does. 

I realized that, in less than a month’s time, many of us will be saying goodbye to our college experience as a whole, and some, like myself, are preparing to adapt to the absence of some of our friends. 

I’ll tell you — I did not appreciate the emotions that this interaction brought over me — as a professional sentimentalist.

As I listened to the people who helped establish my love and passion for journalism discuss plans for post-grad life and watched as they practiced how they’d walk across the stage, I decided to dedicate this print’s column to them: My first and best college pals.

This leads me into today’s dreadful, complex topic: The art of saying goodbye. 

Goodbyes are a craft that we all are forced to learn, whether we want to or not. It’s one of life’s biggest lessons, and one that poets and novelists have tried to articulate for hundreds and hundreds of years. It’s told tales of heartbreak and triumph — sometimes even both at once.

There’s no code to goodbyes, and there’s not even set scenarios for them. They’re annoyingly unique each and every time.

We say goodbye to people — our loved ones who die, relationships that don’t work out and friendships that fade. We also say goodbye to experiences — school milestones, jobs we grow out of and houses that become too big or small for us.

Some are masters at goodbyes. They run away at seemingly each minor discomfort and manically search for distractions. They rip themselves away from the situation like a match to a box, and then they wait to feel the burn. 

I don’t think I like that method.

Some, on the other hand, are honestly terrible at goodbyes. They hold on, like a colicky child to its mother, to whatever it is that’s ending and must eventually be peeled apart from it. For them, they burn long before the separation even happens, and usually for some time after until it all turns into ash. Benevolent ash, but ash nonetheless.

As Urusla said in The “Little Mermaid”: Those poor, unfortunate souls.

So what’s the middle ground here? How are we supposed to say our goodbyes in a way that isn’t totally detrimental to our being?

Now, I’m aware that not all goodbyes are permanent. In our discussion of college graduates, they may be moving away and venturing off, but they’re not really going anywhere. 

Here, we’re not often mourning the people themselves, we’re mourning the impending unfamiliar — the rooms they won’t be in, the inside jokes that they’ll take away with them.

So, I suppose the fundamental discomfort of goodbyes lies in the hands of fear and dread. Some might even say doom and despair. 

Listen. I’m only 19 years old, so if you’ve come here thinking I’ve got it all figured out, that’s your fault, because I don’t.

But I do know a little about goodbyes in general, aside from our niche graduation woes.

I know everything is ultimately fleeting and nothing is guaranteed. I know “goodbyes” are nearly as constant in our lives as are “hellos.” They, or their predecessor, slaps you in the face at random, like it did to me that day in the office. And each goodbye hits us like we’ve never said goodbye before.

But maybe it’s not about decoding goodbyes, and maybe we should stop viewing them as something we must conquer, like a traveller discovering a foreign island. 

Maybe the art lies in the wading — the struggle for normalcy — because with that unique struggle comes the knowledge that what we had meant something. That our goodbye isn’t for nothing.

The unfamiliar will become familiar again, half-drawn circles will be completed and then we can relish in the memories that once came with a sharp reminder of reality.

That is, as far as I know, the art of saying goodbye. 

Professionally Unprofessional is a recurring Collegian column by Anahid Valencia, a second-year student pursuing a career in journalism.