Julia Halvas | staff writer

I came to Duquesne with a set of expectations about how college would be — a plan. Well, it’s been three years since I started college, and everything has changed. Three years on the same campus, typing on the same computer. Three years of labs, heartbreaks and making new friends. Three years of finding out who I am and what I’m supposed to do.

In fall 2023, I wrote an article for The Duke, discussing my first impressions and experiences as a freshman on campus.

Of course, I was terrified out of my mind; living with a girl I didn’t know, keeping up in rigorous STEM classes and figuring out how to do this whole adulting thing. Despite my doubts and fears, I had most of it figured out and was excited to embark on this new chapter of my life: Four years of undergrad, four years of medical school and a three-year pediatric residency or potential fellowship.

Even though I hadn’t worked out all the kinks, I would say I had a pretty solid “pla-” … Until I didn’t.

In November of that year, two weeks before my first set of finals, I was hospitalized and underwent emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. When I came back to school in spring 2024, I struggled immensely with recovery and juggling classes.

I moved out of my dorm freshman year, deciding I was not coming back in the fall. Until, I got a call in July 2024, that my best friend had died. The best friend who encouraged me not to drop out of college because she saw my potential. The same best friend who never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself. It was then I decided I would force myself back to campus in the fall. I began to learn how to balance life’s unexpected challenges while being a full-time student.

For a while, everything seemed okay even better — until once again I found myself in the same position I was in almost a year ago. In December, as we were reminiscing about the end of a tough year and celebrating new beginnings, my father broke the news that he was diagnosed with a rare form of blood cancer. Once again, my whole world shattered, and I was forced to pick up the pieces that I spent so long trying to glue back together.

Three years of heartbreak. Three years of rebuilding. Three years of redirecting myself and my life.

Even though I kept chugging along academically, I began to notice that my “pla–” sort of became a “pl–” and then, nothing at all. I felt as if the letters kept erasing one by one, leaving me with a blank sheet of paper and an awful case of writer’s block.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I started to doubt myself, my potential and where the future would take me. I was scared I was lost on a new road, a road where there was no one in sight to help me along the way.

I spent most of my days wondering if medicine was the right path for me, and I was scared that I was falling more and more behind my peers. I began doubting myself and my potential and I began stepping away from the things I loved. I stopped writing for the newspaper, I stopped editing for the science journal.

I stopped trying to find the “an” to my “plan.”

As I sat in my senior year apartment a couple weeks ago, still wondering what the future held, I realized something. It was something that was standing in front of me this whole time. I could see my freshman self as she filled her closet with clothes on move-in day. I could clearly remember the way her eyes would light up when she shared her published writing with her family and friends. I could see the way she approached each class with an open mind. I remembered that even though she had confidence, her “plan” was nothing more than a “pla–.” She had no idea what she was doing, but she didn’t let that discourage her or chase after her dreams.

It was then, I realized that the “an” to my “plan” was always in front of me, despite what my subconscious told me. It was a simple concept that I intensified in my mind to put unneeded pressure on myself.

The truth is, you cannot predict the future. No matter how hard you try. There will come multiple points in your college experience where you question your worth and begin to watch as the letters of your plan begin to disappear.

Even though you will want to stop looking for the future, it is important to never give in. No matter what challenges are thrown at you or the heartbreaks you face, they do not define your future. In fact, they strengthen it. You will come to multiple forks in the road, and people will have no problem telling you that if you do not take the traditional road, you will not succeed. The truth is, the non-traditional road may not be easier and even may take a little longer, but it will definitely be more quiet. And it is only in the silence where you can fully find your authentic self, the self you spend your whole life looking for.

Without having to retake general chemistry, I would have never had to take a different section of organic chemistry. I never would’ve met my best friends, all whom I still talk to, and one who is now my roommate. I never would’ve found my way back to the things I love, like writing. I found ways around my writer’s block and began jotting down the experiences I faced, even if they were small. Without diverting paths, I never would be the person I am today. I am someone my freshman self would never recognize but love.

I realized that the girl who walked into Towers freshman year is not the same person who walks into Brottier today. Sure, we’re both smiling, but for different reasons. My freshman self is smiling because she is starting a new beginning; I’m smiling because despite all the challenges, I never gave up on myself and ended up finding my way on the unexpected route I was put on.

I realized that no matter what, my failures do not define my future; that even though I came into college with nothing more than a “pla–,” I gave myself the time and kindness to finally find the “an” to my plan.

Julia Halvas can be reached at halvasj@duq.edu