I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

We're all going to die.

These are the thoughts that raced through my head atop a 200-ft. roller coaster a few days ago.

I gripped the handlebars and braced myself for the 70 mile/hour plunge. Hair in my sweat-soaked face, my heart leapt into my throat. Finally, the big drop was behind me.

Or so I thought.

Just as my heart rate calmed, there came another loop, and another, and another. As soon as I realized that there were more I lessened my grip and let myself go.

I swallowed hard and let my screams turn to laughter. I looked ahead to the drops and corkscrews in front of me, and smiled.

Ironically, these are my feelings as I face the most dreaded two words any unemployed, loan-paying graduate encounters: real world.

My outlook on the future changes from one minute to the next: it dips, turns, rises and plummets in a heartbeat. When friends and classmates are going off to grad school or having families, I find it difficult to see myself in the world (the greater world, of course, that exists outside South Bend).

Mostly, it's difficult to imagine stepping off this four-year tilt-a-whirl we call Notre Dame. Am I ready for real responsibility, for these funny, real-world things called "benefits?"

Yes, I am. Because I knew the ride had to end. I knew that one day the classes would finish, The Observer presses would stop and I would need to face the next daunting drop called adulthood.

Throughout the years, the drops have become less scary. I have terrific friends taking the same freaky ride who have eased my stomach and calmed my nerves at every new twist. My friendship with them has taught me that no drop is so steep that I can't handle.

Nothing in life seems so big when a fly girl, a hypochondriac, a rock star and a comedian face it together.

I also know that though one ride is ending, there are hundreds of new rides ahead of me, urging me to get in and buckle up. And I won't die — not from a new ride, a new step in my life.

I've learned to deal with my anxiety and anticipation. All those crazy thoughts of "Chapter 11 in six months," or "What curtains would look nice in my cardboard box?" are normal and will fade away. This is, of course, what I tell myself and my family as I sit here jobless and waiting for every loan student's favorite department to hunt me down.

I know that at the peak of each new plunge, I will look to my family and friends for inspiration. I'll look to my father for the shoulder to cry on, my mother to tell me to dry my eyes and find a job. And to my sister, of course, to make fun of the both of them.

I'm sure I'll look to them this weekend, to pinch my arm and remind me of the amazing ride I've just taken, and the ones that lie ahead.

I'll grip my cap and smile in the face of the corkscrews. I'll embrace the twists and turns.

Come on life, bring on the big drops.

• The ride of a lifetime