I love writing about the summer between high school and college.

When Sarah Dessen proclaimed, “I love writing about the summer between high school and college. It's the last gasp of really being a teen,” she captured a sacred threshold in the journey of life. Her words point to a season not measured only by months, but by transition—that fleeting span between dependence and independence, between the innocence of adolescence and the responsibility of adulthood. The summer between high school and college is more than just a pause; it is the final breath of youth before the world demands the taking up of heavier burdens.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Dessen’s career as a novelist, one devoted to exploring the lives, struggles, and awakenings of young people. She has seen, as both an observer and a participant, that this summer stands apart from all others. It is often filled with freedom, with late nights and laughter, with friendships deepened by the knowledge that soon they will scatter. It is also tinged with melancholy, for the youth senses that a chapter is closing, never to be reopened. To write of this time is to write of endings and beginnings, woven together in fragile beauty.

History and story alike remind us of this threshold. Consider the young soldiers of World War II, many of whom went to war just after finishing high school. Their last summer of youth was often the last time they knew peace before stepping into a life that demanded sacrifice and discipline. Or think of the ancient Greek youths who, before taking up civic duty, celebrated rites of passage marking the end of boyhood. This moment—the last gasp of being a teen—has always been recognized as a liminal space, a sacred crossing from one world to another.

Dessen’s words also reveal the paradox of this season: it is both light and heavy. Light, because it is often filled with joy, exploration, and unbridled energy. Heavy, because beneath every celebration lies the shadow of change. The young person, though not fully conscious of it, knows that they are standing on a bridge. Behind them lies childhood, familiar and safe; before them lies adulthood, vast and unknown. The laughter of that summer is often sharper, more poignant, because it is underscored by farewell.

The deeper meaning of her reflection lies in the truth that youth is most cherished at its end. While one lives it, adolescence feels endless—filled with frustrations, longing, and uncertainty. Yet when the final days arrive, they are suddenly seen as precious, fragile, and fleeting. That “last gasp” of being a teen becomes a memory that glows for decades afterward, a reminder of who one was before the burdens of career, bills, and responsibilities reshaped the soul. Dessen’s love of writing about this time springs from its universality: every generation has felt the same bittersweet mixture of freedom and farewell.

The lesson for us is to recognize the holiness of thresholds. Whether it is the summer before college, the final weeks before a new job, or the last days before a great journey, such moments deserve reverence. They remind us that life is not a straight line but a series of crossings, each asking us to savor, to reflect, and to carry forward the lessons of the past. To rush through them is to miss the sweetness of transition; to honor them is to carry strength into the next chapter.

Practical wisdom flows: if you are in such a season, live it fully. Cherish your friendships, savor the nights under the stars, laugh without restraint, but also prepare your heart for the journey ahead. If you are older, guide the young with gentleness, reminding them that their last gasp of youth is not a loss, but a passage into possibility. And if you look back on your own threshold, do not mourn it; let it remind you of the courage you once had, and let that courage carry you still.

Thus, let Sarah Dessen’s words echo as a timeless teaching: life is made holy by its thresholds, and youth is most beautiful in its final breath. Honor the crossings, savor the last moments of innocence, and step boldly into the unknown, for every ending is the seed of a greater beginning.