Dylan Thomas wrote, "In my craft or sullen art / Exercised in the still night / When only the moon rages … I labor by the singing light." For four years, I have labored by that singing light, working into the wee hours of the morning, long after the rest of campus has gone to bed.

Tonight, for the last time, I will walk out of The Observer, push the door closed and check to be sure it locked. When we come back from spring break, a new editorial board will take over. I'll still be around, writing articles and laying out pages, but my tenure as an editor will be done.

I have predictably mixed feelings about this. I look forward to going to bed before 5 a.m., to being prepared for all of my classes, to having free time again.

I'm just not ready for it to be over. More than anything else at this University, The Observer has made me who I am. It was The Observer that taught me the lessons of life: to teach, to learn, to follow, to lead, to take criticism, to work on a team.

But most of all, The Observer made me passionate. It was during those endless nights of editing that I learned what I love. It was in reading the voluminous hate mail (and occasional positive note) that my columns generate that I learned who I am. It was when I hurried home in the pre-dawn chill that I learned what is important.

I have given my heart, my soul and my GPA to this publication. I spend more time, most weeks, in the office than in my room. When my mind wanders in class, I'm usually thinking about The Observer. I have actually had nightmares about commas.

But everything I've given to The Observer — and I've given everything I have — The Observer has given back to me tenfold. The satisfaction and even joy I get from this job is immeasurable. And the friends The Observer has brought me have been my rock and my salvation all through this difficult year. Michelle (O Captain! my captain!) is an inspiration, Shannon is the other half of my brain, Colleen is the gentlest heart in the world. Kevin never fails to cheer me up; Mike can always make me laugh. There are countless other Observer staffers — far too many to name in 500 words — who have made my heart dance, who have made me glad to have known them, proud to have worked with them.

Unlike most of my colleagues, I do not intend to be a journalist. When this year is done, I will hang up my press pass and study law. What I hope, more than anything, is that I will love the law as much as I have loved The Observer. I have had the matchless opportunity to love what I do and do what I love. I have given 100 percent of myself and discovered the joy in that; 90 percent will never be enough again.

If I could leave those who will follow me — and those who will read this — just one piece of advice, I would use the words of Wynton Marsalis: "Invest yourself in everything you do — there's fun in being serious."

Invest yourself.

• The Singing Light