Return to Sender: One Year Out

To the Class of 2007, at whatever university you may be graduating from:

A year ago next week, I walked across the stage on Franklin Field, shook a couple of hands, and collected my fake diploma. (The real diploma got mailed to my parents' home a few months later.) I'd done it: I'd earned my B.A., and from an Ivy League institution, no less. I had a job lined up. I had a lot of friends who'd still be in Philly. I was about to start a new and exciting chapter of my life.

A year later, nothing and everything has changed. I moved out of my tiny West Philly apartment and into a very problematic one bedroom right in the center of Center City. I started working. I stopped working. I'm dating someone different. I've lost fifteen pounds. I finally finished reading A Confederacy of Dunces. I've lost touch with people with whom I thought I'd be friends forever. I've made more than a handful of new friends. I started working in professional theatre—by mistake. I've seen something like 100 live performances. I've probably consumed more alcohol than I did during four years as an undergraduate. I found out I really do like red wine. Some red wines, at least. I've discovered a love for watching piano bar karaoke—maybe sometime I'll actually sing. I've had to say two very difficult goodbyes. And most importantly? I've learned a lot about myself.

A year out of college, and I'm not much farther along from where I was when I started, on paper. I need a job, desperately. I have to figure out when and where I want to go to graduate school. I still don't sleep, and I can't blame that on last-minute homework assignments anymore (although I can still blame it on Phillyist). I haven't gotten that lucrative book deal—mostly because I still haven't written that book. But, I'm a year older and a year wiser. And really, I guess what I'm trying to say to all of you who are about to graduate, is that that might possibly be the best you can hope for. To be a year out, and happy (I am, and very much so), and well on your way to discovering what you want to do or who you want to be. But believe me: you don't have to have it figured out. That discovery? That's the fun part. I know I've got a long ways to go, but I wouldn't trade this past year for anything.

Photo by author, snapped on her way to commencement, May 15, 2006.