Friday, May 8, 2020

'I'm not going to UNL, that's too cliche' and other ironies

It's the night before graduation and it is nothing like I'd planned. Instead of heading to Fuzzy's, Iggy's and Junction to party one last time with my friends, I am laying in bed in Papillion thinking about the last four years.



Here's what I've realized...

When I was a senior in high school, I thought I just had to get out of Nebraska if I wanted to experience anything fun or different in college. Well, now that I have finished my senior year I know that senior in high school Christa was naive.

She thought being a Husker would be boring. She didn't want to just be a face in the crowd or a number on a graph.

She wanted to make a million memories and she wanted to live a life worth other people remembering.

And she thought that couldn't happen at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln because she would be "just another girl from Nebraska going to UNL."

Then the email came offering her the Buffett Scholarship and everything changed.

Now that I have been through my four years at UNL, I can say with pride that I did make a million wonderful memories. I did leave lasting impacts on people. And I know people will remember who I was on UNL's campus.

I give credit for this to the William H. Thompson Learning Community that helped me establish friendships and connections on campus, The Daily Nebraskan for letting me become a true reporter, The DailyER for letting me remind everyone of how funny I am, Husker athletics for letting me be the fan in the student section I always knew I was meant to be, and UNL Housing for allowing me to grow into myself through my role as a resident assistant.

My mentor group, The DN and DailyER fam, Husker football, and Smith 8 will live in my memory and heart forever.

I realized while on campus that you're only a cliche if you let yourself become one. You're only a number if you live like one. And you're only forgotten if you don't do anything worth remembering.

Another irony I found through my years on campus was how often my professors in the College of Journalism told me to stop worrying so much about classes and grades because it was my experience that mattered. These words of advice were always given with pure intentions, but I saw it as a challenge more than anything. I wanted to graduate with some sort of honors, just like I had in high school. I was told these honors only existed for those in the Honors program, which I did not find beneficial.

Well, now that COVID-19 has come and messed up graduation, students are each given a slide to show we completed our degree. Mine says "Christa Rahl Bachelor of Journalism from the College of Journalism and Mass Communication High Distinction."



I'm proud to say I have graduated with a 3.96 g.p.a. and have written over 100 stories for the school newspaper, not including my work on The DailyER and was a three-year RA.

Only my family and close friends will remember that feat, but it's important to me and I hold it near and dear to my heart.

I have also found it funny and ironic that I am graduating with my degree in Journalism but I don't want to be a reporter anymore. But here's what I have worked through about this- I don't have to want to be a reporter.

That sounds simple but it took my months to get it through my head. Instead of taking my skills to a newsroom, I will take it a different career path that I can fact-check, dig deeper to find answers, and truly talk to people.

These things are important and honestly pretty rare. So I will allow myself to enjoy whatever's coming without worrying that I should just send myself down the reporter route knowing full well that I would hate it.

It was also ironic that Baby Christa was afraid of being a face in the crowd but wanted to hang out in Memorial Stadium each Saturday with 90,000 of her closest friends.

But the thing is, even there, I wasn't just a face.

I made it a goal to get to the front row of the east side student section just as soon as I found out it was possible for underclassmen.

From then on, I stood in my corner by the band and made friends with the other maniacs that agreed that an 11 a.m. kickoff meant we should get to the stadium by 5:30 or 6.

Those people weren't just faces, they became friends and connections to the rest of campus.

The irony and pure Husker magic goes a bit further to the fact that while I was "just another student in the student section," I also made it on the big screen for seemingly every game. I was on TV cheering for my team often enough that it became a drinking game for people to spot me at home.

I never thought that would happen. I never thought I would have friends only turn on the game to see if they could pinpoint me. But I never thought any of these amazing things would happen.

UNL has a magic about it. The Huskers are special. I want you all to know that. And the magic is everywhere.

It reached to CoJMC where I somehow did well in all of my classes regardless of realizing I didn't want to be a reporter.

It reached to The DN office when I decided as a freshman that I could handle five stories in one week (I swear I died three times that week).

And it reached to Smith Hall when I thought the whole building would burn down eventually and somehow it is still standing. (I did have my marshmallows ready for the fire pit, though. Thanks Liv!)

Smith Hall was a special place that I will probably talk about forever. I will dedicate more blogs to my life as an RA than anything else because that building and everything that went down inside shaped me into who I am today.

The magic was most evident when I came back for Year 3. I had been warned that the third year of being an RA was the hardest. I had a new boss, new residents and my best friends on staff would not be there anymore. Plus the previous year was a verified sh*t show. We can all admit that.

But the magic came when my new RD allowed me to be myself, have time for self-care and gave me the resources I needed to have confidence I could handle 48 more girls.

The magic extended into each of those 48 new residents I had in my last year. These girls trusted me in their hardest times and brought me into some of the most fun I've had on campus.

This is not to say I had a favorite floor because each year offered me something special, but the third year was magical because I needed it to be.

All of these things together became my Husker experience. Each moment made an impact. Each relationship taught me something new. And each memory made me realize UNL is special and there's nothing wrong with being a girl from Nebraska going to Lincoln.

Wednesday, May 6, 2020

An Open Letter from a 2020 College Senior

I finished my degree yesterday. I took my last exam and then I was done. I had nothing left academically to do before I would be allowed to walk the stage and hear my name.

"Christa Rahl: Journalism."

Those three words probably don't speak the volumes to you that they do to me. To me, they shout victory over reporting classes that I hated, editing classes that I loved and modules that started with 130 that made me cry.

Those words remind me that the University of Nebraska-Lincoln has been my home for four years. They allow me to reminisce on how much I have truly grown in those short years. It feels like forever ago that I was the president of Harper Hall just fighting to put some twinkle lights in the trees. It feels like ages ago that I got the email telling me I was hired as a Smith RA. It feels like a separate lifetime ago that I first met my professors that made my college the best on UNL's campus.

I had a professor with a Pulitzer that made fun of me for always fighting for my A in the class (but he gave it to me anyway). I had an instructor that saw herself in me and knew that sometimes that means I need some brownies to go with my mental breakdowns. I had an instructor that had interviewed anyone who was anyone and claimed she didn't like Trump because of his cologne.

I had a remarkable time at UNL and getting my degree from the College of Journalism and Mass Communications. But I won't hear those words this May. I won't decorate my cap with a Hamilton lyric or a T-Swift quote.

Instead, I will sit on my couch in my cap and a dress of some sort and watch my chancellor confer my degree from 45 miles away.

That breaks my heart.

College was a great time. I loved meeting my residents each year, I loved learning from those remarkable teachers but I also loved having a little fun on the side.

If you would have told me this past August that the night before I graduated college I wouldn't be dancing my bootie off at Junction, I would have blamed in on Housing. Nobody would have guessed it would be because a deadly virus decided to take over the world.

So I am missing the closure. The last time I saw my friends, I didn't say much of a goodbye because I didn't know I would need to. Now it's been almost a month since I have even left my house in Papillion.

College friends are the best. You meet them when you need them and they stick around through the thick of it because we're all going through college and the crap it throws at us together. I love the people I have grown close to in college because they've seen me at every stage.

The girls I met and got close to in college watched me fall in love, have my heart broken and then become who I am today. They have hung out with me at the bar and at the library because balance is important. But I thought I would be able to thank them and tell them how proud that they grew with me. But instead I went home on April 10 and never came back.

I will go back to my campus. I will take my graduation pictures. I may even go get my master's degree at some point. But nothing will compare to how shallow and empty this ending is for my bachelor's degree in Journalism. And I hate that.

Fix the tude, dude

I know some seriously great people. I really always have. I've been blessed to be continually surrounded by seriously wonderful individu...