By Sean Savage
@SeanSav13
If you told me four years ago that I’d be finishing college from my childhood bedroom in Rye, New York – with my knee in a brace, recovering from a one-in-200,000 injury where my kneecap ended up in my quad, along with four other significant injuries – doing asynchronous work for professors and with classmates I’ve never even met, I’d probably laugh and then ask what I did to deserve that.
This is not how I imagined my college experience would end: no final strolls around campus, no impromptu goodbyes in Cheney and no smashing late-night lifts with 400 milligrams of caffeine flowing through my veins. Instead, my senior year is winding down with quiet mornings, a routine with no real connection to campus life, multiple hours of painful rehab a day and a kind of stillness I never expected – quiet, isolating and hard to put into words. But that’s the thing about college – it never really goes how you plan. And sometimes, that’s where you end up learning the most. I didn’t see it at the time, but it sure did for me.
Looking back, the last two years of my college experience were, fittingly, anything but typical. As a junior, I spent the spring semester living at home, interning for SLAM, a renowned basketball magazine. It was surreal – one day I was in the office working on a story, and Richard Jefferson casually strolled in.
But for all the cool moments like that, the experience itself wasn’t what I expected. I was far from campus, friends and far from the structure most people associate with college. I also learned that the real world can be tough – to say the least. It made me realize that even the hands we choose can come with challenges – and I had to figure out how to play mine well.
After my internship with SLAM ended, and with an awkward gap before senior year began, I thought I had missed my shot. I had spent months networking with editors and HR contacts at the New York Post, doing everything I could to build a connection before the internship applications ever went live. I put all my eggs in one basket and didn’t apply anywhere else. But the application never came – and eventually, I told myself it just wasn’t meant to be.
Then one random day in May, I was standing in line at CAVA when I got an email from Olga Leus, the senior director of talent acquisition at the Post. My information had been passed along to her, and she asked if I’d be interested in coming on as an intern. I hadn’t applied. I had already written it off. She helped me through the process on the spot, and within a few days, they called and offered me a position.
Later I found out only three people were selected from a highly competitive pool of applicants. I was the first.
It’s funny to look back now, because none of this was ever part of the plan. I came to Springfield undecided, vaguely interested in personal training. I wasn’t even thinking about journalism. But during my first semester, I took a first-year seminar with Marty Dobrow – and one essay later, everything changed.
After reading one of my first assignments for the course, Marty pulled me aside and told me I had a strong sense for storytelling – that I had a natural way of placing the reader inside the moment. He encouraged me to take writing more seriously.
He opened my eyes to a whole new realm of possibilities: that writing – real, in-depth human storytelling – could be more than just a class assignment.
Again, how could this be? Before that essay, I had fallen asleep in his class – front row – for 30 minutes. And let’s just say everyone, including Marty, knew.
Writing for The Springfield Student was where I built my bones. It’s where I learned how to ask better questions, meet deadlines, take feedback and write with confidence. It’s also where I started to understand that writing could move people – that it could give someone a voice, shine a light on what matters and create connection in ways I never expected.
During my first internship, a parent once reached out to me in tears after I wrote a story about her daughter. That moment made me realize writing isn’t just about telling stories, it’s about showing them. About bringing someone’s experience to life in a way that does it justice. And now, that’s what I value most.
So no, my college experience hasn’t been typical. I didn’t get the senior year I imagined – it’s one with no real goodbyes. For the next two years, my life will be centered around rehab and getting back to a normal life. But through all this, I have found out who I really am – and what I’m capable of.
To Marty – thank you for seeing something in me before I could. You’re a huge reason I became the writer and student I am today, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
To Aimee Crawford – thank you for helping me develop more confidence as a writer through the years. I’ve always admired your sharp editing eye and the way you push people to be their best.
To Anne Wheeler – thank you for stepping in as one of my advisors. You’ve been a steady source of support through my recovery so far, and I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re taking the time to lead a course just for me – a class that wasn’t even offered online. That kind of generosity doesn’t go unnoticed, and I’ll always be grateful for it.
To Jeremy Menard – even though we’ve only known each other for a short while, you are the man. I really appreciate the care you bring to each of your classes, and thank you for checking in on me time and time again over the last few months – it’s meant more than you know.
To those at The Student, SCTV3 and Birthplace Studios – the future is in bright hands.
To my fellow seniors – I wish you all the best. You’ve been nothing short of amazing: I hope each of you leaves here with a sense of purpose and pride in what you’ve done.
To the juniors and sophomores – your talent and drive continue to blow me away. It’s something I really respect – and not something that’s easy to find.
And to the first-years – keep stepping outside your comfort zone, keep learning and keep showing up for each other.
This isn’t how I thought it would end. But in its own strange way, it’s a fitting story.