Sometimes I wonder: if actions speak louder than words, why the hell am I writing? I’ve asked myself this while writing papers for my English major, while writing (or trying to write) poetry, even when writing this column. Despite loving words, I still ask myself what makes my words any better than anyone else’s; what makes my words worthy to read? Who am I to think people care what I say?

And while I am often inclined in these moments to head straight to the bar to drown my sorrow in cheap beer, I instead try to take the calm (and less liver-damaging) route of re-evaluating my intentions, of re-evaluating what I like about writing.

What I like about writing is that every piece has its own audience, its own intent. It could be to persuade, to inform, to explore, to mock, to make fun, to profess love. Your options are limitless, really.

And what has been freeing about writing these columns for The Weekly these last two years has been the opportunity to do all of those things, to comment about anything I want. Granted this liberty has left me clueless on many nights before my deadline about what to write about, but it has also allowed me to turn in columns about nice-smelling soap and alternative uses for a toothbrush.

Writing for The Weekly has been both encouraging and humbling. The feedback I’ve received from fellow students and professors regarding my column—whether  supportive or questioning—has not gone unappreciated. Like any self-conscious writer, I’ve checked the various sites for responses—Letters to the Editor, comments on The Weekly website and Facebook—and I’m always surprised to find that people actually read my column, who know me (kinda) through this. I thank you, readers, for reading.

I’ve also realized that although I have a space in this newspaper every week, some people might not agree with what I have to say or even want to read it. That is their choice, and I respect that choice. I choose not to read any books by the Bronte sisters or the business section of the newspaper, and that’s OK, too.

I write, then, for the people who want to read me, who want to hear what I think, who see my words as worthwhile to be read. With humility and gratitude (and, I hope, a sense of humor), I offer you my final suggestions:

Value learning. Although it may be possible to graduate without reading one, a book can take you to a world you never thought possible, without the use of hallucinogenic drugs. Check out a book from the library that is not required for a class. While browsing last month I found a contemporary poetry collection that could qualify as soft-core porn, but it was damn good writing. Make friends with the reference librarians and staff. Make an appointment at the Writing Center. Not only can the tutors help you with your paper, they’re easy on the eyes, too. Appreciate your professors.

Question your faith. If you’re religious, be open to conversation, development and change. If you’re not religious, do these things, too. Acknowledge the importance of values and figure out what yours are. Just because you don’t believe in a god doesn’t mean you can’t believe in something. Go to a candlelight service in the Chapel. Meditate. Utilize your resources and take your time.

Buy less and love more. Spend money on things you need, not necessarily what you want. Laugh when your professor makes a dirty joke. Find activities to do that are free. Some of the best nights I’ve had with friends have been playing board games in a fort made of bed sheets and intentionally flailing around Ring Road at midnight. Drink responsibly. Even though you can get them by simply asking, flirt with your server at Olive Garden to get free breadsticks. Hug your pet. Live simply.

And remember, leggings are not—nor will ever be equal to—pants.