I'm in limbo these days. While this veritable see-sawing between whatever's in store and whatever's past might seem normal for any other fourth year embarking on her last semester at the University, in many ways, it's just downright scary.
First, there's the idea of actually graduating from college and getting a real job. And for a while, I thought I'd be able to put off the two tasks pretty effectively.
I ignored four different letters from Garrett Hall -- all marked "Urgent: Graduation May 2002" -- that arrived at both my apartment in Charlottesville and my mother's house in Maryland, which threatened me with the dubious peril of not turning the necessary forms in on time.
"You haven't done that yet? Are you crazy?" my mother admonished.
Nope. But I just bought my first planner, courtesy of student charge at the University Bookstore, and I've penciled it in for tomorrow under "To Do."
By coincidence, I recently found out that I still had one of those lingering College requirements left to fulfill this semester. When I couldn't find an anthropology or sociology class that (a) met later than 11 a.m. and (b) didn't convene on Fridays (my two core prerequisites in the realm of academia), I thought I might be able to get a history class to count instead. But when I laid out this phenomenal plan of action before my dean, she looked at me incredulously over her bifocals, smirked, then told me I'd have to take that petition all the way to University President John T. Casteen III. Garrett Hall strikes again.
It also dawned on me not too long ago that I would need a job in a few months. I thought about trying my hand at one of those cool resume-eating Web sites like MONSTERtrak or JOBtrak, or maybe even trekking over to University Career Services and using their ever-helpful job search software. I have not been able to find anything, however, and I'm worried that my humanities bent on English and history isn't really the corporate resume cushion I need. Sometimes, it concerns me that a few of my friends have had jobs lined up since the fall at places like Boeing or the Schlagenheimer & Maxamillion law firm (yes, the latter would be fictional).
Then again, I'm not so sure I would fit in to the "real" job scenario. During winter break I had one of those jobs, working at a PR firm in downtown Washington, D.C. I had to get up early and ride the Metro, packed into the plastic orange seats like a sardine. I had to drink coffee, and worst of all, I had to wear hose. There's nothing worse than trying to un-jam the company copier for the third time in an afternoon while simultaneously realizing the gradual, day-long slip-slide of those nylons down your thighs and calves. Although the president of the firm commended me for my "enthusiasm and bright smile" when my tenure was up, I'm not sureI was the team player he was looking for. Plus, I never could claim to be a fan of that new cubicle smell.
Still focused on that fast-approaching graduation date, I gave up the job search indefinitely and applied to graduate school instead. Just maybe, I thought, I'd be able to make it in the world of scholars, write a dissertation, read piles and piles of books and do a lot of, you know, thinking.
I was feeling pretty good about my prospects until I pulled up my grades on ISIS and took the Graduate Record Examination for the second time. Although my friends and advisers continue to try to convince me that great grades in science classes and silly standardized test scores aren't prerequisites for a historian-to-be, I have my doubts.
Even if the majority of my concerns are for the future during this last sliver of time spent within the University bubble, I've recently found myself reminiscing more and more about those previous seven semesters of college life past. Increasingly, what seems most important is the act of remembering, in making each moment here permanent.
Last Friday, I attended a lecture given by two of my favorite University professors. There, in a dimly-lit room, with perhaps a hundred-something eyes and ears focused on the musicality of the ideas and voices of the two men standing at the podium, it came back to me for a while. I forgot about graduating, finding a job or getting into graduate school. I was mesmerized and encapsulated in that single, visceral moment. Only the present mattered. And I was just fine.
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