Confession: Thus far, a lot (or most all) of what I have been doing on this blog is complaining. I have tried to do so in an endearing, charming fashion, so that you will not realize that is what I am doing; hopefully, I have had some level of success in this attempt.
Do not take this confession as my way of saying that from here on out, the complaining will cease. That is most certainly not true. But that’s mostly what writers do, anyway: We complain. David Sedaris has turned his ability to whine and insult in a likable manner into a fabulous career comprised of fabulous stories, essays, and articles that I would be lucky to be talented enough to write. Honestly, what I would give to be able to complain like David Sedaris…
But, in this post, I am going to attempt to refrain from focusing on the things that I don’t have and instead focus on those that I do. I want you to know that, despite what I write, I know that my life truly isn’t that bad. However, before I get to the positive, “what I have” part, I’m going to start by complaining/re-reminding you about what I don’t have anymore (Sorry. Bear with me).
Thus far, this summer has been rough, starting with the first day that it began, i.e., the day that I graduated. I know, I know, we’ve been over this before. But here’s something on that subject that I haven’t yet said.
School gave me a home. As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I’ve moved around from place to place a lot over the last four years. When my family moved away from the home that I grew up in two years ago, my bedrooms at school became my most familiar places to live and rest. These bedrooms were small, but even though I never had one closet that could hold all of my shoes or one bookcase that could hold all of my books, I had the same three roommates for three years. And while we lived in three different places over those years, their mere presence gave those locations a sense of familiarity, a sense of home.
School also gave me a purpose. For twenty-two years being a student was my job, and I was good at it. I was good at doing my homework, at staying up all night writing a paper, and at reading ten chapters in one day because I had an astronomy test tomorrow and I hadn’t done the reading in months. I liked school. I definitely took classes that I was not good at, but I never took a class that didn’t interest me. I visited my professor’s office hours frequently, and I took advantage of the extracurricular offerings at BU, as well; throughout my four years of college I took piano, voice, dance, and ice-skating lessons.
In the last month or so, I have spent a lot of time wallowing over these loses of people, of place, of purpose, of security. But everyone who graduates from college must go through this same, painful transition process (Except for those lucky B’s and SOB’s who seem to have everything all figured out. I wish we could all be them), and everyone manages to get by and make a life. And I know that I’ll get by, too. In fact, I already am.
I have recently started two internships, one with a magazine and one in the world of corporate communications, and I am super excited about both of them. Both are temporary, but I’m hoping that I can turn them in to something more. Neither of them pays, so I’m still looking for another job that will bring in some money, but I really do feel as if I’m getting somewhere.
As I had feared, graduating has put distance between many of my friends and I and that distance has caused many of my relationships to change, but some of those relationships have changed for the better. And all of the really wonderful people that I met while in college continue to be in my life, in one way or another, and they all continue to be wonderful.
Perhaps the most surprising realization that I have had in the last few weeks is that I’ve started to feel young again. While I was in college, life was a short, four-year countdown to the end, and every birthday was a reminder that that end was getting closer and closer. By May of my senior year, I felt that life was getting away from me. On April 3, I turned 22 ½, at which point in time I began telling anyone who would listen that 22 ½ was over halfway to 23, which was over half way to 25, which was halfway to 30, which was old. And I was terrified that I would wake up one morning and realize that I was old and that I had never done anything with my life.
But with the end of college has come the end of that countdown. Twenty-two and a half is starting to feel young again (I maintain that 30 is old, but I suppose this belief will also change with time). For the first time in awhile, I feel as though time might be on my side, and maybe, maybe something positive has come from graduating.