I Graduated Last Month and All I Want to Do Is Sit on My Mom’s Couch
The graduation cap’s still sitting on my coffee table, tassel bent where I sat on it in the car on the way home. There’s still blue and gold confetti crammed in the cracks of the front doormat, from when my family shook my graduation gown after the ceremony. I keep meaning to vacuum it up. I haven’t gotten around to it. It’s been 32 days. I don’t feel like the person I thought I’d be when I crossed that stage. I just feel empty.
I wanted this so bad, you know? Last semester, I complained every single day. My thesis was on 19th century nature poetry no one cares about, I had an 8 a.m. chemistry requirement I never went to but still lost sleep over, I ate way too much greasy takeout because I didn’t have time to cook, I cried in the library bathroom after my advisor told me I had to rewrite the whole third chapter. I’d text my best friend at 2 a.m. saying “If this doesn’t end I’m going to drop out and move to a cabin in the woods.” Well, it ended. And here I am, no thesis, no 8 a.m. classes, no deadlines hanging over me next week, and I miss the noise a little. Not the thesis part. Definitely not the 8 a.m. part. But the noise. The thing that told you where you were supposed to be every hour of every day.
Last week I ran into my old bio prof at the grocery store, the one I had for freshman year. He remembered my name, which was weird and nice, and he asked what I was up to now that I was done. I froze. I had a half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one hand and a bag of cheese puffs in the other, and I just said “Uh, I’m back home staying with my mom. Eating a lot of ice cream?” He laughed, but I could feel my face getting hot. Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I pull out the big impressive answer everyone expects? Oh, I’m starting a marketing job in Chicago! Oh, I’m going to grad school for public health! Instead I admitted I’m just eating ice cream on the couch.
Everyone’s got the big answer, it feels like. I scroll through Instagram every night before bed, and it’s all my classmates posting photos of their new leases with exposed brick, their offer letters framed on the kitchen counter, their group beach trips to celebrate before adult life starts. My aunt commented on my graduation photo “So excited for your next chapter!” and I still haven’t replied. What do I say? My next chapter is folding laundry and walking my mom’s golden retriever and waiting for my barista training to start next week? That doesn’t sound like an exciting next chapter. That sounds like nothing.
The house is so quiet during the day. My mom leaves for work at 7:30, and it’s just me and the cat until 5:30. I’ve rearranged my childhood bookshelf four times. I’ve rewatched every episode of The Office twice. I know the schedule of the old guys who play chess in the park down the street – they’re there every Tuesday and Thursday at 1, and they always save a spot for the guy who brings homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. I’ve started bringing a book and sitting on the bench nearby, just to be around people. It’s not that I’m lonely, exactly. It’s just that I got used to having people around all the time – my roommate eating cereal at 2 a.m. while studying, people yelling in the hallway outside my dorm, group project meetings that turn into late night pizza runs. Now it’s quiet. Too quiet, sometimes.
I think the thing no one tells you is that emptiness isn’t the same as sadness. I’m not depressed. I don’t lie in bed crying all day (well, I cried once last week when I burned the chocolate chip cookies I was making, but that was mostly about the cookies). It’s just that for four years, every single thing you do is pointed at one goal: graduate. You take classes to graduate, you join clubs to pad your resume to get a job after you graduate, you pull all nighters to get good grades so you can graduate. And then you graduate. And the goal’s gone. There’s no one telling you what to do next. There’s no syllabus for life after graduation. It’s just… a blank page. And blank pages feel empty before you start writing on them.
Last weekend I went to my little cousin’s high school graduation party, and all the aunts and uncles came up to me asking about my plans. When I said I’m working at a coffee shop right now while I figure out what I want to do next, they got that soft, pitying smile. The one that says “oh, that’s nice, honey” before they turn away to go ask cousin Lila about her pre-med scholarship. I get it. I used to think that after graduation I’d have a big fancy job lined up, too. I thought I’d have it all figured out. Turns out I don’t. And that’s okay, but it’s also still empty.
I start my barista job on Monday. I’ve applied to a couple full-time entry level jobs that sound sort of interesting, nothing that makes my heart race, but nothing that makes me want to throw up either. I still haven’t vacuumed the confetti off the doormat. My cap’s still on the coffee table. Some afternoons I sit on the porch and watch squirrels steal birdseed for an hour, and it’s peaceful. Some afternoons I sit on the porch and feel that empty twist in my chest, like I’m wasting time, like everyone else is moving faster than me.
I don’t have a big inspirational conclusion to this. I don’t know what I’m doing next. I just know that right now, it’s okay to feel empty. I don’t have to fill the whole space in one day. Maybe the emptiness is just part of starting something new. I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Probably after I vacuum the confetti.
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