Reflecting on her years spent in New York City, Joan Didion wrote, “It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends.” GW began for me the day I moved into District House, a muggy August afternoon spent unpacking, grocery shopping and saying goodbye to my parents. I know when my time at GW is ending, I just don’t know how.

When I turn my tassel and toss my cap into the air this spring, will I have done everything I’ve wanted to do here? There are 160 days between now and Commencement on the National Mall, technically 159 days before I receive my degree. But I don’t hear the sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance” when I imagine graduation — I hear a ticking clock, a countdown to cram in as many “firsts” and “lasts” as possible.

Is this the dreaded “senior scaries?” I don’t feel anxious so much as I do sentimental. I need to soak up every memory so I can wring it out later: the salty starchiness of Tonic’s tater tots, the dulcet tones of “doors opening” on the Metro, the crunch of fallen leaves on the way to class. Maybe it’s the sunk cost of four years worth of tuition, or because I really do love this place, but I’ve got to take more than a diploma with me.

I’m in a race to do it all, and I really do mean everything. There are so many sights left to see, things left to do and people left to meet. From my bloated bucket list: visit Arlington National Cemetery, stop at every Metrorail station, catch a game at Capital One Arena, run into a member of Congress on the street, schlep to every Tatte in the DMV in one day, go to the top of the Washington Monument, and on and on.

I’ve biked to Arlington and back, seen a show at the Kennedy Center and celebrated my birthday in the Watergate Hotel. I’ve stood on the Key Bridge to Rosslyn at sunset, watching as pink and orange shroud D.C.’s skyline and dance off the Potomac River. But it still isn’t enough. It never will be. I’m trying to take as much of GW and D.C. with me as I can for fear I’ll never be able to come back — that those job offers won’t come through, that I won’t afford rent, that I won’t escape the sleepy suburbs I grew up in.

What stings the most are the opportunities I’ve already missed. I’ve sat behind Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene on a flight and caught the same train to work as Metro General Manager Randy Clarke — true #OnlyAtGW moments, if ever there were ones. But I couldn’t work up the nerve to say something to either of them. And never mind all the internships I haven’t applied for or all the office hours I’ve never attended. That’s what terrifies me: I can’t or won’t do what I want to before the clock runs out.

With just a few months of my senior year left, I fear I don’t have time to gallivant around, playing tourist in my own backyard. No matter how much time I carve out, no matter how badly I want to tick one more item off that list, something always comes up.

I walked to the National Mall for the first time on that muggy August afternoon, climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and took a selfie as beads of sweat rolled down my face. I could do all of that because it was before everything: before classes started, before I joined The Hatchet, before I forgot to do laundry or eat dinner, before I stayed up all night doing homework more times than I’d care to admit.

The spell New York cast over Didion eventually lifted, but I still find myself enchanted by D.C. — and GW — every day. Despite it all, I can’t help but smile whenever a motorcade screams past my window or when a lost traveler stops me for directions on my way to class.

I relish taking my family to Founding Farmers when they visit, planning which museum we should visit over brunch and getting them to understand why I love it here. In fact, I’d rather have them come to D.C. than return to New Jersey or Georgia for winter break. I haven’t booked train or plane tickets yet because I don’t want to leave unless I have to.

I am at the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end of my senior year, halfway to leaving the place I’ve called my home for the past two and a half years, halfway to parting with the friends I’ve made. There is so much to do and so little time to do it — and to think I wanted to graduate early.

I’m ready to move on, to go into the world with a diploma in my hand. But I’m not ready for the end.

Ethan Benn, a senior majoring in journalism and mass communication, is the opinions editor.