For me, college is a lot like a very slow race, but a race nonetheless. I always feel like I’m rushing to get to the end of something — the end of a negative emotion, the end of a cloud-filled day, the end of a draining lecture where the professor talks for entirely too long.

However, this race is unlike your typical one, as it’s an everyday, four-year-long battle. Some days you chalk it up to the highs and lows of college — something you and your friends complain about over poor, borderline-inedible dining hall food. Other days, these things feel like blows to your soul, and you ask yourself: Am I enjoying my experience here? Why don’t I feel as alive as I’d like?

My dad frequently FaceTimes me out of the blue, asking me with a little too much urgency in his voice: “How are you?” I can tell from the concerned tone that he’s not asking me about my latest friend drama or the grossest thing I came across in my dorm bathroom recently. He’s asking me about my literal mental health. He and I are both fully aware that just last year, a student on my campus died by suicide. He’s aware of the pressures of the monotony of college. So when he asks, I listen. And I reflect, almost like I’m as concerned as he is.

On days where I don’t feel my best, I pull out my repertoire of self-help aids: morning meditation sessions, evening journaling sessions, deep breathing exercises in nature, long phone calls with my mom. If I feel even an urge of sadness, or notice an absence of emotion at all, I pull out all the stops. There’s nothing scarier for a college student than the possible prospect of depression because there’s the threat of not being to prevent it and not knowing how to deal with it once it arrives.

Even as I write this piece right now, I’m borrowing a tool from that repertoire I just mentioned, writing. I feel oxygen and the universe and God’s presence, all at once, starting to fill those gaping holes in my soul. I reject bad vibes and possible negative energy more than frat parties. It’s honestly an art form.

If I had to give a piece of advice to my fellow college students, it’d be the advice my therapist gave me: Find what nurtures your soul and do a lot of it. Does cycling give you joy? Cycle until your thighs feel like stone. Does studying in particular places on campus make you feel more alive? Make those spaces your second home. Does being alone in your dorm room bring you comfort? Decorate it well, and allow it to be your oasis. Does being a part of a particular club make you feel like you’re surrounded by family? Devote all your time to that and nothing else.

In college, it may seem like getting your degree is the most important aspect of your experience here. After all, we were all told at some point in our lives that we are at institutions like these to “learn.” But why does learning have to be strictly academic? Some of my most fruitful growth has taken place outside the classroom, outside of the impostor syndrome its confines impose, and its probably mold-ridden walls.

Who’s to say that college, as it stands, might not be one of those things that you decide doesn’t nurture your soul? And if it isn’t, then how do you fix that? I’d say: Find the version of college that makes you happy, and if that means changing your major three years in or finding a whole new group of friends, even though you already have some, then so be it.

This is your life. How would you like to live it?

Zaria Howell is a Medill sophomore. She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.