Natural disasters are interesting phenomena. Most of the time, the world seems to collectively agree that they’re no one’s fault — just a fact of life.
The summer after my freshman year of college, I experienced a natural disaster of sorts. My family had a house in Michigan filled with memories of siblings, cousins, grandparents and friends, and in what felt like a split second, it burned to the ground with everything in it. After an already difficult freshman year at Northwestern, I was left to pick up the pieces of myself and try to rebuild.
It might sound ridiculous, but one of the ways I was able to survive sophomore year was by embracing journalism at The Daily Northwestern. What I first saw as a place to get reporting experience became the center of my social sphere.
I became The Daily’s editor in chief in my junior year, and it felt like my entire life was spent in a windowless newsroom. Responding to Slack messages and watching social media like a hawk dominated my days. Editing in the newsroom took over my nights.
Oddly, I listened to “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac a lot during that time. The line that always gets me is “Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’ / ’Cause I’ve built my life around you.”
“Landslide” gets at something we all feel at some point in our lives. Like natural disasters, change is inevitable. It takes what we know and love away in exchange for something new. You never know if that new thing will be better than the last thing. Even if it is, chances are you’ll still miss earlier phases of your life at times.
When I packed up my bag after my last night as editor, I felt an overwhelming sadness take over me. What was I supposed to do from 6 p.m. to 12 a.m. (or later) every night now? I felt what I’d built my life around slipping through my fingers. It was a natural ending — a landslide.
But it wasn’t long before I realized that there are actually plenty of things to do from 6 p.m. to 12 a.m. You can spontaneously hang out with friends rather than planning a week in advance. You can read, write and paint. You can play pickleball and intramural volleyball. You can write a history thesis. You can choose the stories you want to report. You can even just sleep.
Right now, graduating college is feeling a little like a natural disaster. I’m proud of myself, but I’m scared of this time in my life ending. My relationships with the things I’ve built my life around this year — my family and friends, my studies, my hobbies — are all about to change. It’s all about to be swept away by a landslide, again.
The difference is that now I’ve proven to myself that I can, and will, rebuild.
It feels a bit poetic that just after I graduate, my family will finish rebuilding the home we lost in 2023. While it will never be the same as it was, it’s undeniable that the disaster that felt earth-shattering when I was 19 has also given us the chance to begin anew, to make new memories. It gave way for the home my parents will retire in and my family will return to.
My advice to anyone reading this is to embrace the landslide. While I’m still young, my understanding of life is that these “natural disasters” can hit you at any time — you might move, get laid off or lose someone close to you. We have to learn to see the home built on the hillside disappear, whether you want it to or not.
I don’t pretend to think this is easy — every change I’ve gone through in my life has felt uncomfortable and even painful at times. But at the end of the day, you can rebuild your house on the hill — and it might just be better than before.
Email: [email protected]
X: @LilyOgburn
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