I was always told that my twenties are the best years of my life and that once they are gone, I’d do anything to get them back. 

Once you start thinking about how little time you have as a university student, you never stop. Everything is measured in time: ETAs, deadlines, the difference between a single workout routine, and a fitness journey, or the distance between you and a class you’re late enough for that you might as well skip. The question of how many years you have left of your youth becomes a serious one. How long before age overtakes you like the plague too? 

 Even though I should’ve known better, growing up with comedy movies like Neighbors or 21 & Over nurtured within me some barbaric idea of what my college experience should look like. Some part of me romanticized drinking my liver into the ground and being as edgy and contrarian as I possibly could for fear that if I didn’t, I’d regret it. (Even though, in this case, I did know better.) As late celebrated chef Anthony Bourdain writes in his book Kitchen Confidential, “Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.” Mark Twain, Lewis Carroll, and any other authors worth their reputation have said that, in the end, they’ll only regret the things they didn’t do. 

A part of me was also conditioned to the idea that the only way you can make life-changing friendships is by going to the club with them. When you meet someone new during orientation, you never turn down an invitation because you may lose that person forever and, God forbid, end up friendless. Multiple Reddit posts describe the same thing: making friends at U of T is hard. 

So, with the constant drone of Hollywood and the ever-present reminder that my time was running out, I developed an intense, gut-churning case of fear of missing out. Growing up in a relatively unremarkable city, there wasn’t much I could do about it. When I decided to come to U of T, though, I succumbed to the teeming pressure and excitement that I had built up over my years at home. I had an irrevocable need to live the “college experience,” and I did the best I could with what I got.

I find that U of T’s club culture is quite special: bars and clubs practically surround the downtown campus, and a detour on your walk home with a friend can easily turn into an entire night out. You’d never say no because what if this turned out to be the best night out of your life? What if you just missed out on the story of a lifetime, one you’ll tell your children when you reminisce and lament about how much you miss your 20s? 

However, recently, I had breakfast with my cousin who I hadn’t seen in years. She turned 32 last week, and we had a long and extensive conversation about getting older — back pain, memory loss, and we’re not even in our 40s yet. “But I feel like I only really became a person, like, last year,” she told me. 

Everyone gets excited about reaching the age where they can  do whatever they want, which in turn makes them look back fondly on their younger years. That fondness doesn’t come back from how many times you went to Apt 200 or, if you’re feeling brave, the Maddy. Not a single person I’ve met or befriended on a night out has remained a close friend,  because you’ll always wonder if you’ll be just as funny and entertaining together when you’re sober.

Everyone is just as eager as you are to make university friends before they graduate — ones that will be their forever-friends. There’s no need to figure out who we are and who we want to spend the rest of our lives surrounded by, because in the end, there’s always plenty of time.