I know I was supposed to. I know they are a good thing to have. I know that those who put them on paper are more likely to achieve them.
I’ve never seen the point.
It’s not because I’m afraid of failing to reach them. It’s not because I don’t know what I want out of life. It’s not because I don’t have any.
I have one, and it’s not something that needs to be written down.
For as long as I’ve been a student, I’ve not worried about my GPA or my standing among my peers. I’ve not tried to set myself apart by joining every organization imaginable or replying to every business or honors fraternity email in my inbox. And I’ve definitely not listened to anyone who tried to tell me differently.
My experience at Auburn has been just that: mine.
I’ve pursued the degrees that interested me, joined the clubs with the most personable people and worked at the most enticing jobs.
Nothing I’ve done has been to build my resume or achieve a position of authority or earn a paycheck. I’ve only ever done what I thought I would genuinely like, never because someone told me I should.
I realize I am in a fortunate position, and that others without like means may not have the luxury of such choice as I, but this is no excuse to live to strangers’ standards.
I’ve always been of the persuasion that tireless effort and honesty are rewarded, and my final semester at Auburn has (again) proven my case. My role as copy editor of The Plainsman is something I cannot have traded for anything (except glorious, glorious free time and a smidgen more sanity). Coupled with 18 hours, this semester has been nothing short of a bitch.
But it’s over. I’m done. I’m done with classes; I’m done with The Plainsman; I’m done with college.
I’m graduating in just more than a week, trekking to D.C. for an internship thereafter and beginning a career in Houston in the fall. I never wrote any of these things down.
Tireless effort and honesty are rewarded, and they are rewarded with the definition of achieving a goal: success.