We lived in the future: making joint playlists, planning duo Halloween costumes and trips to other towns. It’s easy when you exchange life stories faster than your parents can get out the door. As college freshmen, we were eager for best friendship, the kind that every book, TV show and movie advertised that we would immediately find upon our arrival to college. So when we met someone decent, we decided it was fate and called it a day. 

As soon as we covered the last 18 years of our lives, we went to the Grand River Target for late-night snacks — we didn’t know about the magic of Sparty's yet — and Rally House for game-day face stickers. 

When the other friends we met lived in different neighborhoods, it was my roommate and me heading to Brody Square for nachos every night. But just as the selection at Brody begins to get tiring, so does sharing every moment of your life with one other person. Our conversations grew staler than the chips we were eating as we tired of dissecting everything from Love Island's most recent season, and we started to realize how little we had in common. 

My band posters and her Greece wall art weren't that cohesive in our coordinated blue and white room; the getting-ready playlists we made turned into picking who got to play a song they liked and the only duo Halloween costume we could agree on was covering ourselves in fake blood as “vampires.”  

It was too late. We were already a package deal, so we didn’t let a few bumps in the road stop us from staying best friends. We were far too involved in each other’s lives, bordering on codependency. Any friend one of us made became a person we shared. The realization that I had nothing of my own started to permeate until I felt suffocated, just as I’m sure she was by me. 

Differing lifestyles and interests strained our friendship until our dorm became a battlefield. It was bound to happen; the blurred lines made the perfect room for boundaries to be crossed and issues to go unspoken until it erupted. 

The room would be silent for weeks at a time and then filled with nonstop chatter as we filled each other in on everything we missed throughout those periods. 

By the time sophomore housing forms went out, we decided to go our separate ways — constantly wondering if we were on speaking terms wasn’t sustainable.

Truthfully, not living together a second year kept us friendly and allowed us to meet up a couple of times a semester. We reminisce, occasionally, on the good times we had, knowing that we’re better off with a bit more distance than a Brody 2x2 could provide. 

While we might still end up back in Rather Hall posing for grad photos, the rest of our college paths aren't as close as we originally anticipated. And that's OK. 

Your “day one” doesn’t need to be your perfect fit, and your perfect fit doesn’t need to be someone you've known since “day one.” You have four years to figure it out, and as I realized over the last two years, everyone else still is too.