Dear You,
Once the celebratory cake has been eaten and the cards with crumpled 20-dollar bills stop arriving in the mail, once the initial excitement of "No more teachers, no more books!" fades, once you've packed up every picture that represents those late-night parties or throw-backs to freshman orientation, that's when your real life begins.
I know you've been listening to speeches for the past few weeks about how you've accomplished so much, about how the world is open to you, about how you should be very proud of yourself and know your worth, and all of those things are very true. But as I watched my friends grab their diplomas today, decorated cap on their heads with the tassel pushed to the right, I wondered how prepared they actually are.
The truth is, they're not prepared. You're not prepared. No one is ever prepared. And as scary as that thought is, it's also somewhat comforting. As you enter into adulthood, where maybe you'll start paying your own rent and buying your own groceries and taking on even more responsibilities, you'll see that that adorable meme of the dog in the chemistry lab (a "chemistry lab" himself, how witty!) does not only apply to retrievers.
No one has any clue what they're doing. And that's okay.
There is no plan for you. You majored in biology but want to be a librarian? Go for it!
English majors? Believe it or not, there are jobs out there for you (I'm living proof). And maybe it has nothing to do with language at all.
Holy crap, you have a degree in art but want to be a doctor. It's not too late. It's never too late. There is so much time until your death and your life has just started.
So what does this all mean? It means you're free. Go do what you want to do, and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise. You will never know what the world has in store for you until you knock on its door and ask. As my good friend Bri hinted at in her commencement speech, there are things you don't even know you don't know (and as my fake friend Phoebe said, They don't know that we know they know we know!).
Ask questions. Never stop. Ask in order to learn about the world, about others, and above all, about yourself. A diploma is not a license to stop learning, but rather a license to explore.
Yes, I realize I haven't been out of college and in the real world very long. But I remember graduating and having no clue what I was doing and feeling like everyone else had all of it under control. I cried at my department's graduation and didn't attend the school's ceremony because I had a degree in English and a minor in Religion; what could I possibly offer to society? I felt like no one understood my dilemma, no one else felt this way, and I was destined to wait tables for life. I wish someone would have told me what I'm trying to tell you now, so for those of you who are scared and lonely, this letter was for you.
To my friends, congratulations. I miss each and every one of you and I wish you all the luck in the world. You are beautiful and intelligent and thoughtful and kind, please remember that. To the TMTers who remember my senior year Banquet speech, I reiterate: do not be afraid to be completely and utterly yourself, because the world needs you, not the version you think the world wants.
Love,
Adulthood Katy, who still doesn't know how much she doesn't know.
