By the time the spring quarter of my senior year rolled around at Iowa State University, I was already living a little bit in the future.

I had done the hard part early in my college career. Study hard and get good grades. Check. Obtain an internship in the engineering field. Check. By February or March, I had a job offer in hand from 3M in St. Paul, MN, a start date of June 1st, and a place to live lined up in New Brighton with my brother, Dave. For the first time in four years, there wasn’t a big unknown looming over the horizon. I could finally breathe!!!

That sense of security probably explains why I loosened up a bit that last month. I still took my finals seriously—this was the finish line, after all—but I also started enjoying the moment a little more. Going out more. Laughing more. Letting myself feel the relief that comes when the hard work has actually paid off. I had gone into my senior year with a GPA above 3.50 but for the first time in 10 straight quarters of increasing my GPA it dipped down the last two quarters below the benchmark for graduating “With Honors”. It’s a mystery.

The job offer also included moving expenses. Pretty much the only thing I owned, other than the clothes on my back, was a nice stereo system, complete with a TEAC reel-to-reel player and JBL speakers, courtesy of Tony. I had kept all the original packing boxes (who wouldn’t?) and had those 7 boxes ready for “the 3M movers” to show up. What came was a full sized semi trailer that tried to navigate the tight corners of the Larch Hall turn-around circle. Hilarious. I still remember walking home from Welch Ave that day seeing this truck in the front wondering who that was for. ME!!!

Finals wrapped earlier that week. Graduation was Saturday, May 23, 1981. All that stood between me and the ceremony was time—time waiting for my mom, her best friend, and my girlfriend, Sue Ann, to arrive later that Friday evening. I remember sitting there with nothing to do when my friend Kevin looked at me and said, essentially, Well…we can’t just sit around.

So we went out to celebrate.

We ended up at the Maintenance Shop—the basement bar in the Union—a classic Iowa State spot. Somewhere between late afternoon and early evening, I drank far too much champagne. I remember eating a little. I remember laughing a lot. And I remember eventually lying down on my bed, waiting for everyone to arrive… and promptly passing out.

They did arrive, of course, and I was a little out of it when they showed up. But I came around quick enough to enjoy the night. Sue Ann and I walked alone out into the open field next to Larch Hall and made up for lost time. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and after nearly eight years together (4 in high school / 4 in college) we were very close. She also had secured a job in the Twin Cities as a nurse and we looked forward to being in the same zip code again. She had helped carry me through college more than she probably realized, especially during those tougher early years when everything felt overwhelming.

Sue Ann and I spent much of our college years learning what it meant to love each other from a distance. We had the summers together but for 9 months nearly 250 miles separated us—she was a student in La Crosse, WI, while I was in Ames, IA—and seeing each other usually meant a long Greyhound bus ride and careful planning. During my sophomore year, she moved all the way to California near Los Angeles, which led to my very first airplane trip just so I could see her.

Somehow, despite the miles, she still found ways to surprise me—none more unforgettable than the weekend Jayson picked her up and brought her back to our dorm, where I first spotted her smiling at me while I was in the middle of a Thumper drinking game, completely stunned and overjoyed. Most of our relationship lived in late-night phone calls after 11 o’clock when the rates dropped, handwritten letters, and a constant ache of missing each other. By the time I graduated from Iowa State, that season of waiting and distance was finally coming to an end, and we were both looking ahead with excitement to being together again in the Twin Cities, no longer separated by miles, schedules, or time zones. It felt good to be together again.

The next day was graduation.

Most of the campus had emptied out due to summer break. Caps and gowns. Reserved seats. Cameras everywhere. I had expected something formal and orderly. What I found instead was joyful chaos. Graduation was held in Hilton Coliseum, packed with thousands of students and their friends and family. There was no way they could call every name. The master’s and doctorate students got their moment, but the rest of us stood together—Engineering, Spring of ’81—called as a group. Mortarboards were decorated. People were being goofy. And yes, champagne was being passed around on the floor where we were seated.

It felt less like a ceremony and more like a celebration. And honestly, that fit. We had earned it. We received our diplomas and took photos outside the dorms. I still have some of those pictures tucked away somewhere, frozen proof that this moment really happened. By the end of the day, the four of us piled into my mom’s car and headed home. The drive back to New Lisbon took five or six hours, plenty of time to let everything sink in.

Everything felt light. Everything felt possible.

I took one week off before starting work. I spent it painting my mom’s house—one last thing to do at home before stepping fully into adulthood. That weekend, I drove to St. Paul, moved in with my brother, and got a quick preview of where I’d be working. Then he headed off on a fishing trip to Canada, leaving me alone in the house.

No vacation time. No safety net. Just the start of something new.

On June 1, 1981, I walked into 3M for my first day. The beginning of my career. The end of one chapter and the quiet, confident start of another. Badge No. US240103.

Looking back now, what I remember most isn’t the diploma or the job offer. It’s the feeling—that rare moment when everything lines up just right. When the work is done, the future is clear, and life, for a brief and beautiful stretch, is simply joyful.