I'm 5-foot-11 and 3/4 -- and even taller with stilettos on -- and it's still easy to feel small.

Small, like the second week of my freshman year in the sixth row of 112 Chambers Building. There, a well-meaning professor recalled -- in front of the entire class -- the perfect grade my older sister received in his class three years prior and kidded that I had big shoes to fill.

I did, but not because of my sister, Cathy, and not because I have size 10 feet, either. I had big shoes -- or maybe, more appropriately, a big purpose -- to fill, because it was the time in my life to do so.

Our worlds are a lot smaller before college, but then our frame of reference shifts, even though, for me, the move was a 5-minute drive down Atherton Street.

We come to a university bigger than ourselves, and it feels like we do the experience justice only if, when we leave, we have done something bigger than ourselves. Perhaps this concept comes from my parents who, for the past two decades, have proved to Cathy and me that we are their greater purpose, without condition, yet never asked for that point to be recognized.

Four months after that morning in Chambers Building, I started to find my purpose here -- putting out these pages with 200 other journalists. The Daily Collegian's circulation is close to 20,000, and that's bigger than me or our basement-office staff of creative, passionate individuals. My sports staff is about 40 people in size, and that's a big band of brothers -- and a few sisters -- that I love too much to ever let down.

We've spent an amount of time greater than one person should handle and dealt with issues weightier than suit our age. And every weekday, we put out a product whose scope is farther reaching than we remember sometimes. One mistake, and we've misinformed a university community. One masterpiece, and we've personally given something to each reader.

There have been times we've been burned out, when a story won't come together; there has been frustration, when generalizations about the media or college newspapers classify us as something we so firmly believe we are not.

But it doesn't take a lot to bring us back -- while going about my job as a reporter, I have seen people satisfying their bigger purpose at this university and been reminded that I have the chance to do the same. Women's volleyball coach Russ Rose raises not only his four sons, but about 20 young women, every day, every season. Quarterback Zack Mills endured boos in order to pursue what he felt was best for his team.

And, of course, this past fall, tri-captains Michael Robinson, Alan Zemaitis and Paul Posluszny mandated -- and fulfilled -- an electrifying destiny bigger than themselves, their team and this university. As I watched it develop last spring and saw it play out on the sidelines, I knew their purpose was as big as a nation.

For the past three years, I have walked into the Collegian office with my co-workers and friends to put these stories into words and to put those words into the hands of Penn State. As we do so, we remind each other of our purpose, too. We do it not just on weekdays but also on Sundays -- instead of sleeping or watching the NFL -- because we print on Monday. We learn so we can pass on our knowledge to those who come after us -- I have felt lucky to prep a freshman for his first one-on-one interview or guide Orange Bowl coverage as the football editor/mom in Miami.

We fuse talents and ideas for a greater end, like we did when we produced the Return to Glory commemorative season magazine in January. As we were about to finish at 3 a.m., after at least 14 hours at the office, my two closest sports brothers and I jointly completed the Table of Contents, picking up, often in the middle of sentences, where the others had left off.

It's a truth that most of us hate endings. I hate them, and I cry. In journalism, though, every ending is always a beginning -- one story closes, and a new one opens. Even better, each ending is printed for posterity, in black-and-white newsprint.

This is my black-and-white ending -- and, though it may look small, the purpose behind it, like my time at the Collegian, makes it feel big enough.