An Aussie by birth, Zoe currently hails from Northern Virginia. As a rookie writer for Prison Fellowship, she spends her days interviewing ex-offenders, corresponding with current inmates, and practicing maneuvering in her rotating chair. She also contributes occasionally to WORLD Magazine and her personal journal. When she's not writing, she's probably riding her bike, hanging out at her church in Washington, DC, or fighting the ants in her townhouse.

The first day of the rest of my life began on July 5, 2005. And for some reason, I felt much older that week than I had ever felt before—or have ever felt since. I climbed the marble steps of the lobby, my pumps clicking as I followed my new boss to the second floor. When we got to the third floor, I heard that ever-incessant clicking of keyboards and the almost jolly jingle of telephones, but all I saw was an unending labyrinth of cube space—almost as if I’d stepped into a horizontal knickknack shelf, each fuzzy gray wall connecting to the next in a seemingly infinite corridor.

When I reached my own little cubby in the giant maze, I was greeted by a computer that looked like it had been well-loved by its previous owner, a rather generic rolling chair, a phone with more buttons than I knew how to use, and a company phone list—my only link to humanity.

I plopped down in my nondescript chair and began to read through my new employee packet. My mind wandered back to the month before and my whirlwind expedition through the stomping grounds of Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, and William Wallace. My stint in Europe had put the finishing touches on my four years at Grove City College, where, two weeks earlier, I had donned my cap and gown, cleared out my musty dorm room, and said good-bye to four years’ worth of friends.

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Brent Norwood is a recovering investment banker who traded his Hermes tie collection for a pair flip-flops and a job at a laid back investment fund in Dallas. Originally from Houston, he currently lives in Dallas, but hopes to make his way back soon. He is an avid A&M football fan, in spite of recent losing seasons, and is married to his college sweetheart, Katie, who teaches English at an inner city charter school.

Spending a little over a year in the workforce has made me realize just what a gift my time in college was. I spent my first post graduate year grinding away the days in front of my computer at a bulge bracket investment bank. On countless late nights (often past

midnight), I found myself fantasizing about the college life again: sleeping past 10, meeting friends at midnight, and cheering the Aggies to another loss vs.

Texas. When I was a student at A&M, all I could think about was the future. I had big dreams to get out, work in New York, and make a name for myself. Although life outside of college has brought many new adventures (marriage, moving, building a career, and buying a home), I find myself longing not for the fast pace of New York, New York, but the slow tempo of College Station, Texas.

The most precious gift in college is that of time. In high school, between sports and my job, I had little free time. After college, my psychotic boss made sure I never worked less than 75 hours a week. In college, however, I had nothing but time. Time to pursue God, girls, video games, or whatever I wanted. It was a blessing to have that time away from my family where I could really see who God wanted me to be. Read more

David Coles, a  fourth-year student at the University of VirgiRead more