Graduating Isn't Everything

Graduation is supposed to be a time of celebration. Friends and family come to town, there are dinner parties, there are services and ceremonies, there are goodbye brunches, there are gift cards and personal checks.

And there's that damn degree you've been working toward for what seems like a lifetime.

Me and one of my closest friends, Austin, waiting for commencement to begin.

But then there's goodbye. And it's for real.

There's goodbye to your favorite professor, who left his seat during graduation just to hug you after you walked across the stage.

There's goodbye to your 'big sister,' whom you saw the last time two years ago, who came up for your graduation, and whom you probably won't see again for another couple of years.

There's goodbye to schoolwork (at least for the summer). And you happen to be one of those weirdos who actually likes writing papers.

There's goodbye to being employed, because your eligibility for your job expired with your college enrollment. This also means goodbye to your amazing co-workers with whom you have mostly enjoyed, but sometimes hated, working for the past nearly four years. (Hated only because shredding sucks, not because your ex-co-workers suck, because they don't. They are amazing.)

There's goodbye to your classmates, who pushed you to think harder and broader.

There's goodbye to your friends, whom you have only started really getting to know in the last few months.

There's goodbye to your best friend, who has been your solace and your closest confidant for the last ten years.

There's goodbye to your incredibly kind, amazing boyfriend, who has taught you that relationships don't have to be hard work, that you deserve someone who respects you, and that you are beautiful the way you are.

There's goodbye to your apartment -- your home of three years, where you created relationships and where relationships were destroyed; where you created a family, and where you watched that family crumble; where you learned to be happy with yourself.

There's goodbye to the city you have called home for four years, and to all the restaurants and cafes and sweet old lady coffee shop owners and sweet hipster baristas and sweet ethnic restaurant owners, and to all the little study spots, and to the spots that contain good/bad/neutral memories.

My graduating class from the Communication Studies program.

And if this were the end of the goodbyes, it would all be okay. It would suck, but you'd get through. But now you get to move back to your mom's house for two months, at the end of which you get to say goodbye again.

It'll be goodbye to the mother who has nurtured you for the last two decades. And to the 14-year-old sister who has needed you all these years. And to the town you called home for 18 years. And to the state where you've always lived. And to familiarity.

I came into this last weekend expecting to feel nothing but unadulterated joy. I expected to ride the high of finally being a degree-holding goddamn grown-up through a couple weeks of packing and through a summer of unemployment.

But that isn't what happened. Reality involved a hell of a lot more crying, anxiety attacks, and potato chips than I had expected.

With that, I would like to take this moment to, once and for all, dispel the myth that graduating is a strictly joyous occasion. I mean, there's a lot of joy. But along with the joy comes raging uncertainty -- even for those of us who know exactly what our next step is. There is uncertainty because, suddenly, you're on your own. You're in your apartment, packing your things, re-living the last four years, and wondering if it's going to be worth all of this anxiety.