Post Grad Life During a Pandemic: The Anxiety of "What's Next?"

“And that concludes my undergraduate career at Gonzaga,” I smiled into my iPhone, which I was using to present my senior Honors thesis project via Zoom after my apartment’s WiFi had crashed mid-PowerPoint. Applause rang out from the dozen small, blurry, on-screen squares housing an audience full of loved ones. After a final wave and acceptance of congratulations, I signed off and leaned back into my unwieldy desk chair. My bouncy-ball heart bounded against the walls of my chest, and I breathed a sigh that sounded more like a bus braking suddenly. An exhilarated smile snaked across my face as I marveled how many more people from all facets of my life were able to attend this momentous occasion because of the unique circumstances we all found ourselves in, even if the technology failed halfway through. A zingy cheerfulness spread across my body like a refreshing cold shower, propelling me out of my chair, into a cute romper, and out into the sunny world that was now my oyster. I chose to spend the rest of my first day of freedom chalk-drawing and walking with friends. The whole time, I marveled that I had finally completed the last of my schooling after a year of extremely hard work, passion, anticipation, and stress that had gone into the twenty seven page academic feat of a lifetime and functioning blog that comprised my project. 

By the end of the day, though, I felt as though I had just hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back on a scorching hot day with little sleep and a lot of Red Bull. My body clamored for rest for the remainder of the week as I joined several final Zoom presentations and graduation gatherings from the comfort of my bed. Although convening with my amazing friends often ended in impromptu affirmation circles, huge laughs, and warm hearts, there was a small part of me that still longed to be celebrated for my accomplishments and the struggles I had emerged from stronger, more mature, and a magna cum laude graduate. Throughout my life, I had always had a part in planning my own celebrations, and longed to be surprised without having to do any of the work myself for the first time. I wanted to be acknowledged for and feel loved for just being me. My heart sported a big ditch full of memories that had been unearthed the past few weeks, and I felt like I could not bury them and honor them in the way they deserved unless there was some sort of ceremony that would bring closure and commemoration to an important milestone in my life. My family and roommates seemed to hear my soul’s whispered requests and worked together to throw me the most touching surprise graduation ceremony and party that could never be paralleled and that I will forever hold in my heart. 

Above is the wonderful gourmet pizza picnic dinner surprise my roommates helped my parents pull off in our living room, which preceded a lovely graduation ceremony with my family via Zoom.

Although the elation from this amazing act of love I had experienced lasted a few days, I again felt a deep void of anxiety that penetrated my being. Who was I now that I could no longer identify being a student after seventeen years of schooling? How should I spend the next two and a half months figuring that out before I left for Boston (if my JVC plans even could continue by that time?) I quickly dove into applying to every nearby job I could think of because I thought it could give me purpose, which I craved deep down because I feel the most self worth when I am producing things and serving others. I now recognize that I long for distraction from feeling my emotions too deeply as friends leave town and I am left alone with my own thoughts. This prospect is scary for me as the trauma I’ve experienced while in college has led me down some pretty dark mental paths that I do not want to revisit. I am exhausted by constantly having to work so hard to maintain my mental and physical health as I navigate one challenge after another (such is life, but still). I feel a lot of pressure to use this time to improve myself physically, mentally, and spiritually, but don’t know where to start or what to work on and am overwhelmed by the millions of possibilities. While there are so many things I could and want to do, I struggle to find the motivation to peel myself out of bed or off the couch most days. And despite my best efforts, I cannot land a job in these crazy times. On a recent Zoom call, though, when someone said “there’s 168 hours in the week that you don’t work,” it hit me: I already know how to work. I’ve spent the last 21 years of my life working extremely hard to overcome anything and everything that’s been thrown at me in school, ballet, and my personal life. Maybe this is the time I learn how to LIVE. Be. Coexist comfortably with my wild thoughts and fully accept who I am at this very moment. Become my own best friend. 

While I felt a little relief from this realization, I am still uneasy. I can do whatever I want (within the constraints of social distancing, of course) whenever I want? With no assignment deadlines looming in the back of my head and keeping me on schedule? What IS this madness?? As a lifelong ballerina and student, I am so used to being told what to do and having mentors to help along the way to particular goals and timelines we set together. What am I to do now? On a bike ride yesterday, I did not discover the answers to any of my questions, but I did find hope in an unlikely place—a rock. Painted in a vibrant pink, it caught my attention and caused me to skid to an abrupt stop as I sped past. As I approached, I noticed that someone had penned Jeremiah 29:11 on its surface: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you not to harm you, plans to give you hope for a future.’” Although a chilling wind had begun to toss raindrops on my face, a warm hope bubbled in my chest. 

Here is the painted rock I came across on my bike ride along the river. It’s bright pink color and encouraging bible verse gave me comfort and hope.

This same sensation stirred within me yesterday as I played one last game of Frisbee with my best friends before they left town for good. One friend’s parents had brought their puppy along, but were trying to maintain social distancing precautions and had her on a leash as we hurled the disc within our large circle. With each throw, she dashed in the same direction, leaping to intercept the shiny object but being yoked at the height of her jump by the firm grip of my friend’s father. However, she did not seem to notice the deterrent and kept trying enthusiastically. Eventually, we let our guard down and in a slight moment of oversight, she caught her prize. I drew a lot of inspiration from this naive puppy with legs too long for her springy little body. Even in the face of the impossible, she kept a doggy smile on her face as she continued her socially distanced play and eventually found joy and satisfaction as the fruit of her unrelenting effort. 

Above is our final Frisbee game before two of my friends left town. In front is Remi, the puppy that brought me inspiration as she tried to join our game.

I’ve decided to embody this little dog and just do the best I can to be present with friends as they continue to leave town one by one, search for little moments of hope and love, and keep on engaging my relationships in the resourceful, meaningful ways that social distancing affords us. I still don’t know any of the answers to my questions, nor have I totally resolved any of my underlying anxieties, but I am hoping that in relearning how to live and being patient and kind to both myself and others, my inner and outer being will glow. Despite this new resolve, I still send panicked texts to my loving friends on the daily. One of them responded in a strangely comforting manner: “We’ll all get through. It’s just gonna be a m*therf*cker in the meantime.” And I’m okay with that. 

To finish, here is a gallery of the amazing friends I’ve met at Gonzaga that have made my life infinitely happier, especially during these last few weeks!