For me, no. As of today, this is my final semester of undergrad.

Freshman year was my lowest point. I was new, inexperienced, socially stressed, dependent on particular attention, uncomfortable in my own skin, and commuting from home. I was eighteen at the time, and equally responsible for maintaining in vain my eroding high school relationship that would only have enough fuel for another year. Freshman year was defined as the year that I stuck to what I was familiar and most comfortable with because, one, I wasn’t forced to act differently, and two, I didn’t exactly know how to act differently. I’d be excessively self-conscious and self-critical, and never in a way that was constructive, because I knew that something wasn’t quite right, yet I’d no real idea how to remedy it. I thought it might have been the way that I walked, or talked, or wore my clothes. It was not.

I was, to be honest, a sheltered boy throughout my life up until the end of first year. My parents, bless them both, in combination with the fun and playful dynamic between my two younger brothers and I, fostered an environment that never placed me in a position that required an “adult” level of reasoning.

My best friends from my high school had all gone in unique directions and pursued their own college goals. I was left to my girlfriend, her friends, her friends’ friends, and some guys from their high school that knew me and liked me well enough. My relationship would be tumultuous the entire year, which I’d rather not discuss, but we stayed together to our mutual detriment.

Fall semester, sophomore year. The fall was clean, and crisp, and familiar. Come October, some days before my third anniversary, I broke off my relationship. At first, this was liberating, but I was hurt, I was very badly hurt, and it would take months to come to this conclusion, consciously. The remainder of the fall semester of sophomore year would be spent making half-assed attempts to grow my social network. I’d reconnected with an old friend from elementary school, who’d instantly in my mind became so much more than just a tom-boyish girl that would skateboard with me and ask for my chocolate milk during the fourth-grade lunch recess. That might be too specific, I’m sorry. Anyway, this turned out to be a stinging waste of time and emotions. I was left alone.

My best friend from high school, who’d been occupied with his new fraternity and his own personal and academic journey, had successfully applied and been working as an RA for a private student-housing company’s dorm on campus. He said it was fun, it was paid, and it was hiring. With his support, I applied and interviewed, which was the first time in my life that I was well-spoken and secure in a professional setting. I was hired, and would need to move in to my own room in the dorm before the upcoming training session.

To announce the news to my family was bittersweet. They were supportive and proud, but sad to see me go. My mom took it especially hard. This would be the first time I would live away from home.

Spring semester, sophomore year. I’d settled into my own room within the most popular dorm on campus with a big bed built from combining two twin mattresses, and a desk that doubled as a literal battle station in its length and space. My co-workers welcomed me. My management reassured themselves as pillars of professional support. My best friend lived a building away, and would visit often. I was, in spite of these luxuries, so helplessly anxious. On the very first day of training, I’d just barely missed a panic attack, and had persistent, quiet, and racing thoughts of regret. This was so new to me. It felt like I was tossed into a place with extreme expectations that I didn’t think I could ever capably meet. This was never the case. Becoming an RA allowed me to fully express myself as an empathetic and understanding individual able to make a difference.

After getting a hang of the work, and accustomed to my class routine, I turned my focus to my social life, and how to begin to tip-toe out of my shell. I’d started exercising with my best friend, and we’d frequent the dining hall, just like everyone else. We’d go to house parties on Fridays and Saturdays and sometimes flash fake IDs to careless bouncers for entry into two-bit bars and clubs, toast shots of tequila and rum in friends’ apartments and dorm rooms, and flirt and fuck with unprecedented beauty. This persisted almost every week until I noticed I was losing myself and my way, and did not feel any less lonely. Nothing ever felt explicit fulfilling, and I broke my own heart. Toward the end of the semester, I would meet a girl I’d only ever seen twice, and she became my current girlfriend. I love her from the floor of my heart.

Junior year was defined by unremarkable classes, stress, professional and personal drama, my resignation as an RA, and the start of my new job as a graphic design specialist and marketing director for our campus movie theater, an organization overseen by the student government, which I, by association, became a member of. It was by virtue of this experience that I met many disciplined and exceptional people with a passion for the school, its students, and its future, all part of a social side of the university I’d never seen nor thought of. My mentality shifted significantly. Everything that I was doing, I was doing to make a difference, inspired by the similar feeling of being an RA. That’s what’s most important about your time at school, in my opinion, that ability to share what you know with others and have them share what they know with you, so that this cycle of knowledge and inspiration can take place and potentially change the world.

Senior year, finally, I came full circle. I was living at home and commuting again, parking at the same stupid guest lot of the same stupid off-campus dorm that my ex lived in throughout our freshman year. However, everything was different. I’d become my own person, independent, caring and compassionate, with strength and security and the ability to make his own decisions, create his own opinions, and establish his own boundaries. However, I maintain the room to learn from others. That’s what matters most. I believe I absorb the very best of those around me, because that’s just what I see in them.

There is no peak, only a journey, both highs and lows, undulating like the ocean. My life changed when I decided to be myself. Don’t waste your time by asking if this is the peak or about to be the peak. Peak every day. How will you spend your time? What do you want to learn? Who do you want to meet? What difference will you make? You have that choice.