I guess when you come to college, you expect your life to change. You just don't expect it to happen in a dining commons.

Like most Penn State freshmen on a weeknight, I was hunkered down at a table in Findlay with the usual mix of close friends, distant associates and random strangers — the perfect setting for an impromptu proposition.

The conversation was trite. As usual, dominating the dinnertime discussion was the sluggish Monday evening pledge never to drink again. The pledge would soon be broken by Friday, possibly Thursday.

Yet my friend Janette had something more interesting to say. Things start changing.

"I'm joining the Collegian," she said. "You coming?"

"The newspaper? Me? I'm a business major." She knew I wrote in high school.

"It's cold; I want someone to walk with."

"It says you need a blue book," I said, reading the tryout ad, now covering my half-eaten brownie.

"I have an extra."

"Burrowes Street? It's too far," I said, whining like only an East Halls resident could.

"We'll take the Loop." Advantage Janette.

Back then, I had it all figured out. I would be a businessman; I would be successful. My TV would be as wide as I am tall. I wouldn't be able to describe what I do in one concise sentence.

What I didn't figure out was that I wasn't really a businessman. Let's just say calculus isn't my forte. The stock market, supply and demand, diminishing returns — meant nothing to me.

It was my brother's major, my mother's expectation.

At the tryout, it was good to write again, even if it was about a fire in Pattee Library that never happened. My scrappy mock story was enough to get the job. Unfortunately, Janette's wasn't. (Don't worry, she gave me hell for it.) Janette, the journalism major, was shut out, while the business major was free to dabble.

And dabble I did. On my first assignment, I spent hours covering Dance Marathon with only a few paragraphs to show for it in the end. Stop the presses: Lion Ambassadors win airbands!

Fortunately, I got better and my stories did, too. Bad for the Undergraduate Student Government, good for the newspaper. When I found out someone had broken into USG e-mail accounts, I wrote about it. At one point, it seemed as if I knew more than the police did. I learned the thrill of breaking a story.

But I had help. The Collegian's news adviser John Harvey taught me to never get kicked out of a meeting and to never back down. Fellow reporter and friend Daryl Lang kept me fair. My supportive editors Stacey Confer and Dave Edelson pushed me to my limit, but never burnt me out.

Thanks to Patricia, who has been a true friend and boss all rolled into one. And to Angela, Cheryl, Kelly, Susie, Beth and Jon, you made this newspaper great this year.

So after three years of covering bus crashes, tent cities, three riots, and massive protests, I'm no longer learning about management science or information systems — I'm a journalist.

Today, the semester is winding down, but the news isn't. As I am writing, students are crowded in the HUB demanding change from the university. Meanwhile, the staff and I are writing, editing, and taking photos. I have finals coming, papers due, but wouldn't have it any other way.

As I leave State College, it's only simple advice that I can give: Keep your options open. All too often for many students, university life becomes a restricting noose rather than a liberating experience. Penn State can be a place where you can redefine yourself (several times if need be). So try out something new, and maybe it will stick.

Most people who know me now couldn't imagine me not being a diehard journalist. But that's the beauty of college; half the battle is figuring things out.

And Janette, thanks.