Well, Cornell, I’m stuck with another welcome back article. And while I wish I could give you a cheerier piece of news, I’m afraid that we’re returning to more study, with a chance of sun, oh, I’d say never.

That being said, I do rather like the opportunity to welcome you back to Dreary Ville, USA. Population: wool coats in April and rain boots forever.

After all, I write these post-vacay columns on airplanes. It’s one of the few opportunities I get to write to you in a location other than my bedroom, in an outfit other than mismatched underwear.

And, as usually happens to me somewhere in the Jet Blue terminal between seat 4D and a fantastic bowl of Alfredo, I get to thinking ...

Now, I know. This thinking territory is dangerous business. I mean, I’m perfectly content ranting about boys ’til the cows (with the viewfinders in their sides, of course) come home. But, I figured, the weather in Ithaca was most likely going to be beastly. So at the very least, I’d give you a laugh with a side order of seriosity.

Unfortunately, I regret to inform all you Judah Bellin fans that I will not be cranking out a piece of pontificating glory anywhere near the caliber of coolness in his columns. As is fairly obvious by that poorly constructed last sentence, I don’t think I could.

But I can tell you what I thought of on my way home from Florida: What the hell am I going to do with my life? Or something along those lines.

I guess this sort of thinking started in high school, trying to decide where I wanted to go to college. The second I found out Prince William went to St. Andrew’s in Scotland, well, I was set. We’d meet at his 10 year reunion, fall madly in love and that mousy-haired girl would be out of the picture so fast.

But, alas. I come from a Cornell family. Three generations, and some uncles and cousins to boot. So, as far as they were concerned, I could attend any school I wanted ... as long as it was Cornell.

So, once I was convinced that I would not end up severely bonkers in this school (read: once I fell in love with the campus/the professors I met/the massive number of cute men), I thought I was set.

Go to Cornell + learn some stuff = massive success. Problem solved, n’est pas? Non.

Freshman year, I didn’t know what to do again. Study English? Well, after my first English class, I clearly realized that reading existential literature for the rest of my college career would quite literally drive me off the wall.

But as all Cornellians know, there’s that little thing called a social life that, believe it or not, Ivy kids have too. To rush or not to rush was the big freshman question. I rushed. I pledged. I de-pledged. Something about 50 girls instantly bonding in an eternal sisterhood did not gel with me. Then again, I could have been with the wrong set of 50 girls. Who knows?

Sophomore year, I was not about to find out. One February spent freezing my generous booty off in evening wear and Uggs was enough, thank you.

So, here I am. Second semester. And I have no idea what to do. I’m basically done with my history major — I have one class left. And that math and science requirement will take care of itself ... eventually. What comes after that? A job?

Well, I’m looking for internships at the moment. And my resume’s interest line reads a cleverly written: no clue.

What does one do with a history major? I wish being a historian was that easy. I tell myself every day, “I should have just become an architect. Five years later, I’d effectively have a job track to follow for the rest of my life.”

But now I’ve made it halfway home — I scratched my article written in 4B and had to stop in the shoulder of the highway to rewrite — and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m pretty sure everyone at Cornell has no idea what they’re going to do with their lives.

On the plane, I talked to a (tall! And cute!) kid who for three weeks was pre-med. He now works at a law firm. And to my right there was a fellow Cornellian (we’re everywhere, mafia-style) who was studying engineering and had no idea what to do with her degree.

We’re all confused, Cornell. The only thing that’s certain here is crap weather. I’m okay with that. I mean, after all, on the plane I had no idea what to write about. And now I’ve got a whole article. 

Eat your heart out, Bellin fans.

Cristina Stiller is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at cstiller@cornellsun.com. Believe You Me appears alternate Mondays this semester.