Growth * Intent * Joy

 If you ever met me in high school or college, you probably also met my best friends. Sorry Liv and Ally, I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about my to do lists. I am a sucker for a good to do list. And I am completely okay with this. 

Throughout my undergrad I remember making monthly, weekly and daily lists of goals. And they were always full. I was an active member of my college community and the RA life didn't allow for much free time anyway. So I fell in love with always having things to do and due dates to complete them by. Yes, this stressed me out, but knowing I was completing things all the time was my favorite feeling. I say was, but it honestly still is. 

But lately, I haven't been busy. My to do lists are quite simple. I don't have to write anything down in my planner no matter how much I want to. 

I remember telling someone (and then being referred to therapy and turned away, but that's a different story) that if I wasn't busy, I was more stressed. I meant that. 

Somehow 2020 helped me calm that down. I was able to learn what it meant to relax and  only have self-care on my list of things to complete in a day. Even now, my list rarely says more that "laundry (which I should be folding right now), work, run, shower" because I simply haven't been doing much else. It has been nice, yes, but it is not how I see my 2021 lasting. 

So that brings me to this year's words. I choose words instead of resolutions because I believe I can morph words into what I need them to be as the year goes on. I don't want to feel like I failed and have to give up when I suck at keeping a resolution and goals fall flat for me if they don't have a concrete specificity to them.

My words for 2021 are "growth," "intent or intention" and "joy" all for their own reasons. 

Growth

I chose growth because I truly do want to grow and mature this year. I said it last year, too. And I might say it in 2022. But I really do want to move out of my parents' house and into my own. Preferably with a dog and a master's degree in the works. I have recently realized how many things go into having my own house- wifi payments, mowing the lawn, shoveling snow, making every single meal, etc. and it excites me. I want to be able to manage all of those things. 

I also would like to grow physically into an even stronger Christa. I don't talk about it much anymore, but I still feel lasting side effects of COVID and that drives me crazy. But I am learning each and every day how and when to listen to my body. I have also realized that pushing myself isn't always the answer. So I want to become a stronger version of myself and maybe reach out of cardio. Maybe.

Intention

At work, I see teachers working their booties off to make sure their lesson plans all serve a purpose. In my RA gig, I also learned to make everything mean something else. Sorry Smith 8 Ladies, our Bachelor nights were about more than Pilot Pete and you didn't even realize! But as of lately, I haven't done many things intentionally. I work from 8:30-3:00, come home, work out, chat with my mom, and basically just exist in that world. This is not a bad thing but it isn't pushing me toward the goals I know I can achieve. So I want to be more intentional with my time. 

To do this, I know I need to spend less time staring at a screen. My phone is my biggest distraction even when I'm not talking to anyone. TikToks, Candy Crush, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Tinder, Snapchat- I've caught myself spending ungodly amounts of time on all of them. And I mean that literally. 

While I have had a better relationship with my faith since joining Reality Church and a life group there, I am far from where I could and should be. I know that sort of growth doesn't happen all by itself, though. (Hey, they all work together, see that??). I also need to be intentional with my time and actions to grow that relationship like I would with any friend I hadn't seen in a while. (Which is pretty much everyone reading this probably. Guys, I miss you all!)

Joy

I am admittedly good at finding joy in things. I consider that a blessing and a gift. But I want to spark more joy in other people. I want to find more things that bring me joy. And I want to share what I find with others. I know that this can appear fake or cliche, but hear me out.

Every day I send my Snapchat friends a reason to smile. I have done this for years and I am so happy with how it turned out that it even made it to my graduation cap for college. But now I want to be more real about these things. Instead of "the sun is shining" every morning, I want to go a bit deeper. I am also working to have my friends snap me back with what made them smile throughout that day as we all go to bed. 

I believe these things will all pay off for a more positive and affirming life. It also allows people to share that they haven't been super joyful that day. That's okay! But even on the hardest days, there is something to be grateful for. 

I also want to use this word as a way of decluttering my life. If it doesn't bring me joy, I'm simply not keeping it. That could be a piece of clothing, a relationship, or even a conversation. This is also how I will look at what I add to my life. If it brings me joy, I will work to make it happen. If not, it's not worth the effort. 

So that's my 2021 plan in a nutshell. It's very 2020+1 but that's just the way of the world right now. 

Thanks for reading!

♥ Christa

World Mental Health Day

When it comes down to it, I really freaking hate anxiety. 

I hate what it does to me. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate how it can take over my day. I hate that it’s invisible until it’s not. 

I’ve struggled with this mental illness for longer than I can even remember, but for many years I shrugged it off as “my period is coming” or “I’m just stressed” or “school is just a lot.” 

All of those things could be true, but they weren’t the entirety of this mental health monster. 

Anxiety makes me a nervous wreck when I don’t have a plan for my day. It makes it so that when things are meant to be spontaneous or easy, they can’t be. It makes it so that when things are changing and in all reality I know I can handle it, I can’t stop the tears running down my cheeks. 

Anxiety makes me mean. It makes me lash out at whoever I think spiked it. It makes me uncomfortable handling new or different because I don’t feel that precious sense of control. It makes me give up caring about things I know I hold dearly because it’s just easier to stop. 

Anxiety makes me tired. It wears me out from having to constantly remind myself “you’re okay,” or “you’re safe.” It’s a lot. And it’s honestly hard work to constantly remind your brain, you’re not dying. 

It's all just that much harder post-COVID when you really were dealing with a killer virus. The isolation of quarantine and COVID life for everyone has been hard and I for one am ready for this global pandemic to end. I am ready to be anxious about normal things instead of worrying about getting reinfected, infecting anyone else and wondering if my family will get to see each other during the winter months. 

But anxiety isn’t all of me. I’m still Christa Jane Rahl, the girl who loves football and squirrels. I still hang out with my family. I still make time for my friends. I still get to work my jobs and feel productive and important. 

I find my coping mechanisms. I run, I repeat my self-affirmations, I run more, I challenge myself with new circus arts, and I go on with my life until another attack hits. 

Today, it hit. I had too many different pieces of ideas for plans that all collided in my brain and left me in bed typing out this blog. I even tried to be proactive with a short, half-mile jog to ease the tension building up in my body. Instead of doing any of my fun ideas, I am stuck just trying to quit crying. All because I didn’t want to waste the day. Well, look who has wasted hours of their day now, this anxiety-ridden chick. 

Am I proud of it? No. But I thought it was ironic that my anxiety would attack me on a day I feel is so important. 

So for now, I’m going to take a nap, maybe go for a run, maybe go shopping, maybe see some friends later. Because while anxiety has been my morning, it’s not my life. 

Happy World Mental Health Day, friends. 

Remember, it’s always okay to reach out for additional help and resources. Mental health is important. 

Day 74

 I want you to think about your happy place. I want you to think about the thing you run to when you're stressed or your day was downright shitty. 

Maybe it's calling an old friend. Maybe it's hitting DQ on the way home. Maybe it's creating art in some way. 

Now take it away. Imagine that if you ran to your happy place, it would physically hurt you. It's not your fault, but it is your reality. 

See, that's where I am at right now. 

My escape is on a trail, treadmill. or track. It has been for a while now. I love being able to just go. I don't run very far or even very fast, but I don't care. It's all about the endorphins and challenging myself. 

But right now I still can't do that. I can't lace up my running shoes and head to the lake. Because when I do that it feels like I am about to have a heart attack. 

My COVID symptoms are on day 74. That's a long time. And it all sucks. 

My endorphins, vitamin D and simply listening to my running playlist are very important to my mental health. I am very open about my state of things. I have severe generalized anxiety. For me, that means I am always searching for the next challenge- the next achievement. 

I was just thinking this morning about how my anxiety shows up in even my top five Clifton Strengths. My five are Strategic, Competition, Discipline, Focus and Achiever. These combine to make me want to ALWAYS be going going going. I want to keep finding new things to do. 

When I run, I am always checking my watch to see if I can beat my own time. I want to succeed against myself. I want to achieve new goals. I want to see growth in myself as a runner and a person. 

I want this for a variety of reasons. I obviously love pushing myself and now that I am not in classes, I have to find a new way to keep this up. I also know it helps my anxiety like crazy. I had an anxiety attack before work this week and all I wanted was to get out on a trail and GO. I knew I just needed to clear my head. It worked in college when I would show up to the Rec after Wednesday night staff meetings when I just wanted to cry. I knew it could work if I could just. go. run.

That can't happen right now.

Today after school I went to the park to run and walk. I knew I would likely be mostly walking as my chest pain from COVID has kept me from doing much of anything this week. But I went anyway. That felt amazing. I needed my out. 

Because what people don't realize is that COVID sucks double when you get it. Quite possibly even triple or four times.

I'll explain.

COVID sucks for everyone before it even touches you. I remember being overwhelmed by the thought of the coronavirus because I wanted to do all I could to stay the hell away from it. 

And to be frank, it upended a lot of my life. 

To put it short, it took away my senior year, college graduation, move to Orlando and job down there, and then my mental health from not having a plan for the year. 

That was enough to warrant anxiety and panic attacks pretty much all the time. I remember telling my mom we had to stop talking about COVID because it was making my mental health go to shit. That was when I still had places to go. I could head to the lake or the trail and run upwards of seven miles to get my mind off of the state of the world. So when you're staying away from COVID, it sucks once. 

Then it sucks an entirely new way when you catch it. This should be self-explanatory. You feel like garbage, your whole family has to stay home and pray they don't catch it, your workplace shuts down, and you feel guilty and as though you have the flu. I have a whole blog about this suckage. 

After you're finally out of quarantine and you no longer wonder if you'll end up in the hospital that day, COVID still sucks! It's a lovely game we play. If you are considered a long-hauler like yours truly, you wake up every day with some sort of COVID side effect. These range from hardcore anxiety, nausea, swollen ankles, chronic chest pain, brain fog and random burning sensations. And those were only the ones I have personally experienced. The good news is you do eventually get your smell back!

So that sucks overall. I am still just waiting for my third level of COVID shit to pass, to be completely honest. I want to run miles on end. Let's be real, I want to walk through the parking lot to my school without needing to catch my breath. 

Then there's the weird fourth level of COVID mess. Once you test positive, you become the spokesperson for COVID. In some ways, I love this. I am a girl with my bachelor's in Journalism. I want to inform people and help others get through the illness. But then there's another side to this world. 

I still have friends that won't see me because I tested positive in July. I still get looked at with a strange disgust when I bring up my dealing with the illness around certain people. That hurts. It hurts and it's frustrating. I am not dirty. I did not go out all summer long and party. I didn't refuse to wear a mask at my job. I didn't even leave my home except when I was likely going to be alone. 

So that's where I'm at on Day 74. Still kicking. Still waiting to not feel my chest twang. Still active in my COVID Survivors support group on Facebook. 

Because COVID freaking sucks. The numbers can be swayed, so pay attention to the stories. We are real people going through a real illness that really, really sucks. 

My GameDay Experience

I am a 5-foot 7-inch, 115-pound senior in college and I have never felt scared on my campus. That is, until 3:15 a.m. September 28, 2019.

I was one of hundreds of people who came to earn a spot in ESPN College GameDay’s pit. I thought the experience would be one to write home about, something to tell my grandkids, something wonderful I could never forget.



And it was. I texted my mom about it. I will warn my grandkids about it. And I’ll never forget it.

It wasn’t wonderful.

I would never have guessed I would turn around at the gate and never make it into the pit. I would never have guessed that I would leave with the smell of Natural Lite and vodka scarred in my nose.

I would never have guessed that a show that airs every Saturday of football season wouldn’t know how to contain a predictable crowd.

A school that was so excited to show the world that our football program is relevant again didn't work with the program to ensure the safety of its students.

To this day, I'm not sure who dropped the ball on security and typical event-planning details, but it was quite the fumble.

Husker Nation was ecstatic to see those orange buses roll in with the promise of hope for our football team. We are known for being the best fanbase, traveling well and consistently selling out Memorial Stadium.

But apparently, nobody told ESPN that we also sometimes drink a little and we get a little excited about anything related to football.

So, as I made my way to the stadium at 7 o'clock Friday night with a stomach full of carbs and a backpack full of extra layers and fattening snacks, I had no idea I would return to my dorm room the next day with such disappointment.

Even a few hours in, I assumed everything would be fine. We were all having a grand ole time.

We cheered for the bell tower as it chimed on the hour about 18 seconds before the “Countdown to GameDay” clock hit the hour marker, so we would countdown with it before a triple “Go Big Red.”



We laughed as we watched the plot thicken around a strategically placed Washington State University flag flying in Memorial Stadium and then unhinged by a group of guys.

I even found myself making my poster and cutting my t-shirt into a crop top all while in line.

I honestly enjoyed ringing in Saturday, the true game day, surrounded by Husker fans who were as ready as I was for some Husker magic.  Midnight felt like New Year’s Eve without the snow and kissing- it was awesome!

Around 1 or 2 o’clock I tried to take a nap, but the excitement kept me awake. As I looked around, I saw three people walking around in giant corn costumes. I told them I wanted to one day also be “a corn” and they told me I could be one day and handed me a cob. I kept that corn with me for the next 20 hours.

The problems didn’t come until around 3:10 a.m. when a man in a velvet, red cowboy hat decided it was time to move.

Out of nowhere, he ran screaming, “we’re moving forward!!” And the crowd followed. By this time the entire parking lot loop was filled and the crowd from the side that got there latest happened to also run the fastest. It didn’t shock anyone- they might have slept that night.

It was chaos. Everyone abandoned their belongings and bolted to what we hoped would eventually be the front of the line even though none of us had a clue who was right or wrong.

Then we stood. We waited for something to happen- surely there was a reason we all ran, right? Wrong.

I realized I left my wallet and phone at my blanket. My heart rate quickened as I realized all that I could lose if one person walked by and decided my belongings were now theirs.

So I did a dumb thing.

I pushed my way through the mass of Huskers and ran to my spot. I found everything and hastily threw it in my backpack.

As I made my way back to my friends in line, I was shouted at by a middle-aged woman to “stop cutting.” I tried to explain myself but then realized it was 3:30 a.m. and there was no use.

It took me 15 minutes to squeeze my way back to my friends, but I got there with pride and a sense of profound accomplishment.

But it went downhill from there.

Once I returned to my friends, the crowd was getting a little bored. Velvet cowboy hat man decided it was his duty to entertain the crowd of drunk Huskers.  I would testify that velvet cowboy hat man was also rather intoxicated.

So he did what any good, drunk man would do.

He started yelling. And throwing things. And then yelling to find more things to throw.

It started out as humorous. We all wondered how he got his hands on three separate two-liters of Mountain Dew, a half-gallon of milk and SO MANY bags of Hostess donuts.

But after 10 minutes, most of us- myself included- were over it. We just wanted to find a way out of the mob of people. That was not an option.

As we waited for velvet hat man to find more stuff to throw and others to just keep reloading his arms, my friends and I realized just how sober we were and how drunk those around us were.

My friend realized the man in front of her was not just close to her because we were all close together, he was leaning on her in order to stay standing.

 The people behind us weren’t just crouching down to try to relieve pressure on their knees, they were shot-gunning beers and taking shooters.

And we brought water and a Gatorade.

It was no wonder velvet hat man was getting such a positive reaction from the crowd, there was no one of a sober mind around him to stop him.

That’s why the throwing got worse. That’s why we had to use our posters as protection when someone from behind decided to throw something heavy and the people with a view of what was coming would yell, “SHIELDS!”

It was all a mess.

Then 5 a.m. hit.

The rush we thought we had before was nothing compared to the stampede that followed the 5 o’clock countdown.

I sprinted with my friends faster than any of us have ever moved before. I ran what felt like miles, leaning forward as to protect myself from anyone above me. The whole time I just kept thinking “don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.”

"Lion King" flashed through my memory and I refused to play Mufasa in Memorial Stadium's parking lot.

When the hours of chaos died and we couldn’t get any closer to the metal gate, it was 5:03 a.m.

This was when I finally saw someone with authority trying to tell us something. It was only the third time I had seen much of any security all night. The others were casual. Once, when they walked by looking at our posters and another when they told us there would be metal detectors at the gate, so I needed to get rid of the camera I had rented from my college.

I couldn’t hear much but I heard “no backpacks.” This wasn’t a good sign for me. Not that my backpack was much of one anymore anyway, both straps were stripped seven seconds into the second mob.

There I stood, closer to these strangers than I have been with anyone in my life. I felt my elbow stuck at 90 degrees behind me, but I couldn’t move it. I heard a woman behind me shout to her friend, “there’s an elbow in my heart!”

It took serious effort, but I finally wiggled myself into a straight, up-and-down position. I was so close to those around me that I could not move anything else. Yet, there was still pushing from behind forcing all of us that much closer to the people in front of us.

That is when I had my anxiety attack.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see an out anywhere around me. My eyes darted all around me, trying to find somewhere with air. I felt trapped in this mob of people I had never seen before. I refused to cry but the tears were welling up.

So I forced my way out. I asked my friends what they preferred, and they came with me. We realized we had lost two people’s sweatshirts in the mobs but I didn’t care.

I just needed out.

I told everyone around me they could have my spot. It wouldn’t be a good one because of the first rush, but it would probably have gotten into the pit.

They let me out and I found a spot on the side to watch everyone else enjoy what should have been experienced by those of us who got there early.

When the show started filming the crowd, I found others who hadn’t made it into the pit. Some that had gotten to the parking lot as early as 10:30 Friday morning. I even ran into velvet cowboy hat man.

But I should have known.

I tried to do my research before camping out, but finding a solid rule was a wild goose chase.

I had heard rumors that the campers weren’t allowed to bring tents to the Memorial Stadium loop, and I was concerned we might get turned away at the gate, so I called people who should have known the rules.

I started by calling Memorial Stadium’s open number. The staff member who answered questioned why I would want to camp out. This should have been my first clue that questionable things were in store. I should have known.

The staff member transferred me to the event planning number, the new voice thought I was crazy for wanting to camp out and told me they didn’t know what the protocol would be. I should have known.

I took notes on a sticky note that said, “events staff said nobody would run you off” and security personnel “aren’t going to let you bring a tent or chair.”

Plot twist- there were tents and GameDay charged students $3 to rent lawn chairs for the night and others were most certainly allowed.

But I digress, the voice on the other end of the line advised me to walk to Memorial Stadium where GameDay was setting up and ask the security staff there. I should have known.

I walked up to one security guard and asked my simple questions. He said he wasn't sure of any of the answers. I should have known.

He then asked one of his buddies. Nobody knew what the protocol would be for the next night. They told me to call the police department. I should have known.

I called UNLPD and they told me everyone who would know the rules was in a meeting but I could go as early as I wanted as long as I didn't bring a tent and listened to the hired security team. I should have known.

Long story short, nobody knew what was coming. But I should have.

I was at a loss to believe anybody really knew anything about Friday- everyone was simply focused on Saturday. This made me laugh at the time, but now it scares me to wonder what else we aren't prepared for as a university.

We all knew on Saturday that “the line will start at 5 a.m. and the gates will open for pre-show filming at 5:30.” We knew there would be two hours of pre-show footage and the show was live 8-11 a.m.

But nobody could control the crowd that arrived Friday night and Saturday morning and that disappoints me.

When I went to the tent Saturday afternoon to get my wristband for east stadium’s student tickets for the game, I asked the security staff if they had been working GameDay.

They said they got one last-minute email asking for help, but they weren’t sure if anyone took the hours.

I would attest that they didn’t. And we definitely could have used them.

I’m a Husker through and through, and to be honest I’m quite the optimist- it hurt to write this down. But College GameDay was a disappointment, and that hurt more.

While there is truly no place like Nebraska, I don’t think this situation was one that couldn’t have been avoided. We’re special, but we’re not that special.

And what hurts the most is realizing I should have seen it coming on Thursday afternoon.

COVID Guilt and Other Things That Should Be Added to the Warning Label For This Global Pandemic

When this whole Coronavirus thing started shutting down the planet back in March, I thought the worst part was the illness for those that caught it and the cancelations for everyone else. I thought the worst part would be losing graduation or God-forbid, my job at Disney.

I was naive. 

After being confirmed positive for COVID-19 and going through my isolation, I have realized COVID-19 has a lot more going on than anyone tells you about from the outside. 

The worst part of the rona isn't the fever or needing to sleep for a week straight. The worst part is what I have been calling COVID Guilt. This is the guilt that I just can't shake because I live at home and my diagnosis affected so many more people than myself. This virus attacks your conscience and makes you wonder who you exposed and what you should be doing differently. Even when you do everything you are told, you still start to wonder. You start to see something wrong in everything you do, even when you think you are doing all of the right things. There is no clear "right" thing once the COVID enters your home or lungs. And that's not an easy thing to recognize.

The part that kills me is that even after I have started feeling better, my family is still under lock and key for 14 days to ensure that they didn't contract it from me as I left my room to shower or go to the bathroom. Each day counted as their new exposure date even though I wore a mask to go to the shower and rarely left my room except to go sit outside, far away from anyone. 

My sickness didn't just mean that I couldn't work or even leave my room for a week. The fever before I was even tested meant my youngest brother had to miss one of his few national basketball tournaments for the year. He claims he is okay but I know he was excited to play with this new team. He also couldn't go on his church camp trip because I had tested positive. 

Those two weeks suck, to be frank, because I can go live life. I can now go to the grocery store and get hamburger buns and ranch dressing. But since I brought this disease into my house, my family can't leave still. They could still potentially start showing symptoms at any moment because I was around someone that gave me these germs. That hurts. 

The guilt also comes when I am asked when my date of onset was. I am not entirely sure when my symptoms started because I shook off a sore chest for about a week, thinking it was anxiety. I even had a new prescription waiting for me. But... it just didn't feel like anxiety. I am truly glad I hadn't started that new pill thinking it would solve my problems. 

But since I thought I was told and believed for a few days that my chest pain was anxiety, I wasn't taking the right safety measures for those around me. I went to work, I went to the lake to run, I lived life until I couldn't anymore. 

The guilt hits there, too. Once my test came back positive, I called my workplace and told my management what was going on. As a safety protocol the store closed for professional cleaning and for the coworkers I was in direct contact with to quarantine. This meant that at least 7 of my coworkers and friends didn't take home a paycheck last week. That kills my heart. A week is a long time- a lot of hours. I just have to remind myself almost hourly that I didn't do this on purpose and I am learning through all of this. (Ya know, between naps and listening to T-Swift's new album.)

Other than the guilt, there have been other things to learn during this illness and taking my turn during the global pandemic. Here are a few of my findings:

1. Having a support system as wonderful as mine is super helpful when you can't leave your house. I have been blown away by the people who have reached out or brought things over for us. And even more people that have offered to bring us things that we couldn't think of a list for- I appreciate each and every one of you. The generosity toward my household has been a true blessing. 

2. There are more symptoms for COVID than I have ever thought possible. The tight and sore chest is not something to ignore. I truly wish I would have known that. But it isn't on the list of things to be on the lookout for, so I figured I was in the clear until that fever hit. 

3. People who think COVID is fake or who are refusing to follow safety precautions are the most selfish individuals I think live in this country. It is a super sucky virus and it has destroyed plans, but putting on that piece of cloth can change everything. When I see things now that people post about this virus not mattering or flat out refusing to listen to the Dept. of Health or any doctor, I get genuinely pissed off. Please do not be one of those people. I was lucky to stay relatively healthy through all of this. So many other people are not in that position. Save your grandma, wear a mask. 

4. Retesting for that negative result isn't as easy as it sounds. I wanted to retest for many reasons, including to know I wasn't contagious and could live life amongst the living again. I learned that isn't really a possibility. Because my symptoms have improved, I have quarantined and I haven't had a fever in a week, I am not contagious anymore. But if I tested, it will likely come back as positive for the next three months. That would put my whole household into a tailspin. 

5. The world can be very "corporate" when it comes to this virus. Everyone wants each person fighting it to fit into the right protocol. Well, that is not possible. It's not black and white-- at all. So this virus takes a lot of grace and understanding. Sometimes you have to remind people of that one. 

6. This virus shows you who is on your side through the thick of it. I have seen so many kind messages from people who are truly riding this out with me from far apart. That means the world to me. But it has also been interesting to see who doesn't say anything or check-in. Because, when it comes down to it, those that haven't reached out speak the loudest. 

7. This virus is real. The stories are true. Anyone can get it. 

'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.

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.