The middle of the fall semester is here, marking the season where students scramble to find study abroad placements and begin hard-launching their new homes overseas. In the spirit of exploration, I argue that regardless of whether or not we choose to move to a foreign country for five months, we all must strive toward significant maturation away from USC.

Last fall, I enrolled in a special two-unit elective and was solely drawn by its title, which read more like a hopeful promise than a course description. In Liberal Arts Reading Salon, our focal point was how to properly live as 20-somethings, inspired by canonical nonfiction in the early adulthood category. 

At the time, feeling disappointed, grief-stricken and paralyzed by all the future decisions I had yet to make, I started to formulate my own outlook on how to lead a fulfilling early 20s — striving to acquire my own set of “identity capital,” as outlined in Meg Jay’s “The Defining Decade” and accumulating tools to help me move forward in life. This class was only the beginning of an introspective journey.  

When building the collection of skills, experiences, hobbies, relationships and other personal assets, we inevitably reach a point of stagnation and complacency. Unlike the fish-out-of-water feeling during the first few months of college, we establish a routine and group of friends to spend time with on a consistent basis. 

This pattern is most noticeable among sophomores and juniors, when the excitement from freshman year has already worn off, but we have not yet faced the immense pressure of job and internship hunting. During this period, our personal and social boundaries guard us from the discomfort of the outside world. No matter how turbulent the future presents itself or how competitive the job market has become, we are safe and protected. 

This does not mean that students who feel at home with their institutional environments are less likely to exhibit academic intentionality. This complacency does not have much to do with our performances in the classroom, but the tendencies to stay within our usual confines.

For instance, many of us unconsciously drift into rehearsed familiarity, sitting on the same patch of grass in front of the library, grabbing the same coffee every morning and orbiting around the same handful of people to maintain an equilibrium. As a junior, I rarely find people who opt into unfamiliar classes outside their majors or wander into a club meeting without prior connections. 

I posit that accepting the habit of coasting is careless, and detours are necessary interruptions. Not engaging with novelty just because we have “seen enough” is a dangerous submission to dullness. Truthfully, the unsteady process of pivoting forces us to break out of the pre-written, predictable scripts. 

These dynamic changes arrive differently for everyone: going abroad for a semester, applying for a service fellowship or taking on a self-initiated passion project. What binds these experiences is not the glamour, but the potential for independence. 

Among the circle of high-achieving students, a quiet confession circulates: “I only feel valuable when I am gaining accolades.” At face value, this ambition appears to contradict the complacency that often sets in. 

However, under the guise of prestige, pressure and fast-paced adaptations, the fixation on progress lures us into mistaking motion for meaning. Even those of us who claim to be insatiable and optimistically restless in our endeavors are just searching for the weight of some goal posts to fill the holes we refuse to see. 

Time and again, I found myself falling into the same trap, wishing that earning specific titles and producing a neat resume would yield structured metrics of success. To combat the fear of becoming complacent, in my sophomore year, I continued to join organizations I didn’t fully understand. I was thrilled by uncertainty as if my survival depended on it, saying “yes” to every open door under the cruelly enthusiastic illusion that they would all ultimately benefit me. 

The predicament with complacency is that it hinders organic growth. These are the types of experiences that may not always make sense on paper but will make us more resilient, empathetic and rooted in practice. This groundwork introduces new rhythms. As described by Mary Oliver in her poem “Wild Geese,” the calling from our inner voice to deviate from a standardized path is “harsh and exciting.” 

We have to stop claiming we want growth to come around the corner and wait for it to magically enter our lives. In a culture obsessed with momentum, our redirection will be disorienting but ultimately clarifying, letting us rebuild from what is left.

Ultimately, it is our willingness to reevaluate our North Star that will save us from passivity and overcommitment. The choices we make today have a disproportionate impact on who we become. This chaotic yet essential realization grants us the deeper tenacity for our late 20s and beyond.