Lyda Cosgrove: A highlight reel of the most unexpected Harbinger moments that taught me you can never be prepared for what life throws at you

Head down, slipping through the doors of room 413B for the meet-the-staff pizza party, I’d never felt less prepared in my life. The editors accidentally made me a staff artist, not a writer. I only saw five familiar faces. Before I could catch a breath, along came the icebreaker question: “If you went to jail for a crime, what would it be?” 

Introverted, freshman-me clung to each answer from the circle of 60 staffers and intimidating upperclassmen, racking my brain for what to say. 

I was not prepared for this. 

I mumbled my crime — something about being framed for committing tax evasion with a nervous laugh — and hurried out. At least I had winter break to mentally prepare for this new role, right? How naive of me. 

Little did I know the school newspaper would soon suck away every ounce of my free time, winding me up in a fair share of “how-did-I-get-here?” situations. While I can certainly laugh (and subtly cringe) at them today, preserved in my Snapchat memories and group chats, they didn’t always seem like laughing matters. 

Like my first edit from Tate that sent me into a spiral at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night in Celia Condon’s kitchen, questioning my entire writing ability and existence. Or when I sobbed in front of 40 people at the “haunted” Eastern State Penitentiary — a tourist stop on our Philadelphia convention trip — after a zombie on roller skates chased me. 

But unexpected lows were balanced with moments of comedic relief. Like throwing pennies on Benjamin Franklin’s grave during a two-hour Philadelphia walking tour between journalism classes. Or spinning in the Westin Hotel’s revolving doors and attempting to do the splits on the Crown Center escalator, recreating scenes dressed as Buddy the Elf for a YouTube video.

I lured fellow jerds into the J-Rave mosh pit at the Dallas convention, gripping my obnoxious metallic pink cowgirl hat. Choked down soggy Jimmy John’s lettuce wraps and Cane’s “naked bird” at deadline dinners — the only gluten-free options. Wrote a review on the Psychic Fair and was told I was an Egyptian Slave in my past life and would become TikTok famous — still waiting on that.

The best, sometimes worst, but always unforgettable memories often happen when you’re not prepared for them… at all. No amount of pre-written interview questions, practicing how to talk to a government official or outfits I packed for conventions could ever really prepare me. 

And despite drafting this inevitable senior column in my Notes app for three years, jotting down memories that shoved me into humility and molded my character, I don’t feel prepared to write it. 

I’m certainly not prepared to move 853 miles across the country to North Carolina in three months, but if Harbinger has taught me anything, along with AP style and an aversion to Oxford Commas, it’s that I don’t have to be — and sometimes can’t be — prepared to create a lifetime of inside jokes and unexpected memories.