I Graduated Last Month and All I Do Is Sit On My Old Bedroom Floor Eating Cold Pasta
My graduation day was exactly how everyone said it would be. The May sun turned my black gown into a personal sauna, my grandma stuffed three squished chocolate chip cookies into a crumpled Ziploc and snuck them to me halfway through the ceremony, my mom cried so hard she ran out of tissue and had to use a fast food napkin from her purse, I took 49 photos with different groups of people that I still haven’t uploaded to my camera roll, let alone posted anywhere. Everyone hugged me and said how proud they were, how exciting this next chapter is, how I worked so hard for this. I smiled and thanked them and agreed. That night, I packed up my dorm room, threw away half a bottle of almost-empty body wash and a stack of syllabi I never looked at after the first week, and drove home to my parents’ house. And I’ve been sitting here mostly empty ever since.
Three days ago I ran into my old 11th grade pre-calc teacher at the grocery store at 1:47pm on a Wednesday. He was buying gin and lemonade for his wife’s birthday, I was buying another jar of pasta sauce and a bag of ice because I forgot to restock the ice tray. He asked how post-grad life was treating me, and I got all flustered and mumbled “it’s fine, just looking for jobs” even though I’ve only sent out four applications in the whole month I’ve been home. I didn’t tell him that half the time I don’t get out of my pajamas until 2pm, that I haven’t unpacked the duffel full of college hoodies and leftover textbooks that’s sitting by my bedroom door, that I still reach for my phone to text my roommate that we’re going to be late for 8am lecture before I remember I don’t have 8am lecture anymore. He patted my shoulder and said “you’ll figure it out, kid” and I nodded and escaped to the cereal aisle before I could say anything else. It wasn’t his fault, I know. But I hate that question right now. What are you doing next? I don’t know. I’m just… here.
For 22 years of my life, every single thing was mapped out for me. First grade, get your reading level up. Middle school, pass your algebra test so you can get into honors. High school, get good grades so you can get into a good college. College, pick a major, get a good GPA, do internships, graduate on time. Every step had a deadline, a clear end goal, a little check box you got to tick when you were done. I checked every single box. I didn’t fail any classes, I did the required internships, I wrote the 22 page senior thesis that I cried over twice in the library bathroom, I walked across the stage and got my paper diploma. And then… the check boxes stopped. There’s no syllabus for post-grad. No one sends you an email reminding you that your application for your adult life is due next Friday. It’s just… nothing, most days. Open space. And it feels way scarier than anyone ever said it would.
I know I sound ungrateful. I know I am lucky. My parents don’t mind me staying here, they don’t charge rent, they don’t nag me that much about applying to jobs (only once a week, usually over Sunday dinner). I have savings from my summer job last year that can cover my gas, my iced coffee, and my pasta sauce for at least four more months. I have friends that send me dumb memes every day, I have a car that runs, I don’t have any student debt breathing down my neck next week. None of that makes the empty go away, though. It’s not even really a depression thing, not the heavy, can’t-get-out-of-bed kind. It’s just… this hollow feeling, like when you finish a really good TV show and you sit on the couch after the finale and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Except this isn’t a TV show. This is the rest of your life, and it doesn’t feel how it’s supposed to feel.
Two weeks after graduation I went on that beach trip with all my college friends. We rented a little crummy house three blocks from the ocean, drank too much cheap beer, ate frozen shrimp that we grilled on a rusty grill we found in the garage, stayed up too late talking about nothing. On the last night, we were all sitting on the porch watching fireflies, and one of my best friends said “this is the last time we’ll all be in the same place, isn’t it?” and everyone got quiet for a minute, then someone made a dumb joke about how we’ll all come back for each other’s weddings, and everyone laughed. But I felt that empty thing get bigger, right in my chest. We all went our separate ways the next morning: one moved to Seattle, one to Chicago, one stayed at our college for grad school. I haven’t seen any of them in person since. We text, we plan a reunion for next summer, but it’s not the same as walking to the dining hall together at 9am when you’re both running late for class.
My old bedroom here is weird now. My mom took out the twin bed I had since I was 12 and put a queen size guest bed in it when I moved to college. She painted the walls the boring beige she uses for all guest rooms, took down my old faded band posters, put my childhood stuffed animals in the attic. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, but it doesn’t feel like my room anymore. I don’t know where anything is. I keep opening the closet expecting my high school prom dress to be hanging on the left side, and it’s not. It’s in a storage bin in the garage. I don’t need it anymore, I guess. But it’s just another little thing that’s gone, that I didn’t really think about losing.
I saw a post on Instagram yesterday from a lifestyle creator that said graduation is the most exciting time of your life, you should soak it all in. I guess some people do feel that. I don’t. Right now, it just feels empty. Some days are okay, don’t get me wrong. Yesterday I went for a walk around the neighborhood and saw a golden retriever puppy that was so fat it could barely run, and its owner let me hold it for five minutes, and that was the best five minutes I’ve had all month. But then I got home and sat down on the couch, and realized I had nothing I had to do. No reading due Monday, no group meeting to attend, no assignment to turn in. And the empty crept back in.
Tonight there’s a networking event for new grads from my college, it’s downtown at a fancy coffee shop. I haven’t RSVP’d, I haven’t even decided if I’m going. Half of me thinks I should go, put on a nice shirt, hand out my resume, be a proper new grad. The other half wants to stay here, sit on my bedroom floor, heat up a big pot of pasta, eat it cold out of the pot when it cools down, rewatch the same three episodes of The Office I’ve seen a dozen times.
I know eventually I’ll apply to more jobs. I know eventually I’ll get one, eventually I’ll get my own little apartment, eventually I’ll unpack that duffel of college hoodies. I know the empty will probably fade, or I’ll just get used to it. No one told me, though, that after all the cheering and the photos and the confetti gets swept away, you just get left with this quiet. This empty space where all the deadlines and milestones used to be. It’s okay. It’s just where I am right now. That’s all. (Word count: 1187)
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