I’ve never had a “real” Dillo Day. As a graduating senior, this will, in fact, be my very first Dillo Day.

I’m not even sure when a traditional day is supposed to start. For the two years I did experience Dillo Day, everything started at around 5 a.m.

When I signed up for Mayfest as a freshman, I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into. It seemed the logical next step for people committed to A&O. (And hence the eternal confusion about what sister organization runs what. I imagine most people still don’t know as long as there are big music names on campus.) I felt my involvement with these two student groups was justified by my then-post-grad ambitions. After all, I wanted to be the next Lester Bangs or eventually put my journalism degree to better use and head up my own music mag. Sort of Spin circa-late-’80s but for the early 21st century.

What I signed up for ended up being a defining moment of my time at NU.

Something happens between the hazy hours of Friday and the wee hours of Sunday morning. Amidst the sweating, stressing and hoping for success, you really become a family with the people around you. You forget you’re simply a student. In a way we get to have the best of both worlds: take on the responsibilities of an adult while still having the freedom of an undergrad. I imagine anyone who’s given his heart to an organization or project during his time here knows that feeling. Perhaps it’s the delirium.

Then rolled along sophomore year and my infatuation with music journalism started to diminish. I started getting this itch to be a foreign correspondent in Latin America. My next logical step in Medill was to apply for the South Africa Journalism Residency, meaning I’d be gone spring of my junior year, prime time to be a Mayfest co-chair.

I was torn. I came up with the insane idea to apply for co-chair in the fall hoping that junior year would pan out as planned.

I didn’t get it. Instead I was chosen as the director of promotions. But then half-way through Winter Quarter, a crisis struck Mayfest. One of the co-chairs, a senior who was graduating early, had decided to drop out. He’d gotten a job offer he couldn’t refuse, weighed his options and said sayonara.

Dumbfounded, I shot an e-mail to the remaining, now fledgling co-chair about my willingness to step up despite being an underclassman. Then, she said yes. And the next thing I knew I was being briefed on budgets, production schedules and our diminishing line up options.

Was I inexperienced? Yes. Was I scared? More than a little bit. But in a lot of ways you’re only as good as your exec board. Luckily we were a strong crew, because this would be a hectic Dillo Day year.

Funding kept fluctuating that year, and we weren’t entirely sure how the field was going to look. But, luckily Evanston bureaucracy prevailed and the soccer field renovations were delayed another year. Once our financial burdens were budgeted out, we still had to figure out the lineup. While our headliner, Cake, had been confirmed since February, the rest of the acts didn’t quite fall into place.

Then, when we thought things were somewhat booked, one of our mid-day artists, Motion City Soundtrack bailed. So, we took a risk and banked on The Roots pulling through and then used the extra cash to rope in a local Chicago artist.

It was three days before Dillo Day. And likely the fastest contract turnaround in Dillo Day’s history.

But then, there was rain. Mayfest pays for a meteorologist to help monitor the weather. And the week leading up to the big day he kept predicting thunder storms, lightning included. Worst part is that the official call to move the music inside had to be made at 5 a.m., and if we did risk outdoors, any sign of lightening meant the rest of the day was canceled. It downpoured the night before. I remember because I didn’t sleep at all. My twin sister stayed the night at my apartment and while she slumbered I sat up on my bed like a mad woman, flinching at every crackle. I made the call at 4 a.m., activating our phone tree of administrators and students. “We’re going inside.”

What followed was one of the most exhausting days of my life. Despite the mishaps, it seemed to have gone much smoother than most people imagined. I learned a lot about myself as a student and as a leader.

It was hard to break away from Mayfest and A&O last year. I felt like I was turning in my family for something completely different and uncertain. But being a founding editor for this publication proved just as rewarding.

Eventually it was distance that made me realize I had officially closed that chapter of my NU experience. I was on my journalism residency in South Africa. Instead of getting ready to storm the lakefill or build a stage, I was sifting through dozens of interviews I had done during my three-week stint at the South Africa-Zimbabwe border. Immediately after returning to Cape Town, I had to churn out stories on an illegal holding center that was abusing undocumented migrants and the plight of unaccompanied migrant children.

As much as I was immersed in playing foreign correspondent, I couldn’t help but think of what my friends were doing seven hours behind. One of my closest friends at NU, the current Mayfest Co-chair, was last year’s concerts chairwoman. I was so embittered by the lineup she put together, and yet so proud that I had to Skype her.

It was more emotional than I thought it would be. I’d missed her voice and missed hearing the chatter and laughter of the Mayfest crew behind her.

“I’m proud of you!” I shouted into my laptop’s keyboard. “What?” she replied. Damn connection. Made me want to be able to run and hug her all the more. She’s one of those friends you go through a lot with in college and even though you don’t always remain close, it doesn’t matter. Even while she’s tearing her hair out now, I’ll still pop my head in the office for a chat. I’ve learned a lot from her over the years.

So, I guess this is more than a reflection on Dillo Day. It’s kind of the thank you I never really got to say or even knew how to articulate to the people who incubated me until I turned 21. They were the people who gave me couches to crash on so I didn’t always have to make the commute back to my Logan Square apartment last year. Honestly, there are few floors I’d rather sleep on than theirs.

I actually had every intention of applying for an exec position this year, but then the Medill D.C. program came up during Winter Quarter. It’s funny how things just get in the way like that. It’s even funnier how it feels more frequent as you become an “adult.”

Now amidst the final countdown, the time crunch to graduation feels that much sweeter. Random rendezvous with friends are that much more important. That’s what I’ll try to use my first “official” Dillo Day as, a day to absolve myself of work and consume my friends. But it’ll be hard to not be on the other side of a barricade, wearing a crew shirt and a headset.