So, since my graduation last Friday, and a little before that day and a little after that day, people have been asking me this one overwhelming, almost borderline obnoxious, question.
So, how does it feel (to be done that is)?
It’s a lot like asking how does it feel to get a tattoo? Well, it’s gratifying, but painful.
It’s liberating but suffocating.
It’s defining but blurring.
It’s releasing but imprisoning.
It’s the definite end, but an unclear beginning.
It’s achievement but limitation.
It’s this paradox of emotions because it’s the end of one book, implying the reader ought to now stare in front of the limitless number of possible reads at Barnes and Noble, and pick the next one.
How do I pick the next book?
And do I even have to?
I used to long for the day when I would have this thing called down time, to do things like read for pleasure. But, in life’s greatest, and usually bitter irony, what I thought would be the most exquisite liberty has turned out to be my greatest entrapment. Down time means thinking time, pondering time, caught in the prison of my mind, and not the scholastic mind. The mind that must plot new choices, paths, and journeys. That’s not a task that can be achieved simply by writing a thesis.
And so you ask, how does it feel? Mind-blowing.