I'm going to be a college graduate.... then what?

            I’m terrified. In exactly 37 days, I will be graduating from Winona State with a Bachelor’s Degree in English, $40,000 of debt and absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life. I always thought that by now, I would have it figured out. I would know who I was going to marry, I would know what I wanted to do for a career, and I would definitely not be moving back in to my parents’ basement.

            Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been job searching almost daily, trying desperately to try to find somewhere to work that will pay me enough to not have to move back home. But the problem is that I have no idea if any of these jobs are actually what I want to be doing with my life. I majored in English because I loved to write, but there are no creative writer positions on monster.com. There is so much that I want to do, but I feel stuck with no way to do it. With $190.72 in my bank account, I cannot plan a backpacking trip throughout Europe this summer; I cannot buy a new car that will drive me across the country to a brand new life; I cannot just say “fuck it,” and lock myself in a room and try to write a novel, because I need to eat and pay bills and buy shampoo and put gas in my car.

            This article lays out just how bad the unemployment rate for college grads is; it’s not as bad as high school graduates, certainly, but the fear is still there that I may not find any job, let alone one that deals with my major. http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2013/04/how-bad-is-the-job-market-for-college-grads-your-definitive-guide/274580/ This website shows just how the job market is looking for college grads in 2013, and how bad it is compared to years past.

            So the constant struggle comes from the want to do extravagant things but no means to do them. I have always been financially independent from my parents; I pay for school, bills, everything… all by myself. With 19 credits this semester in hopes to graduate in four years and (hopefully) a little less debt, that leaves little time for a job. Which leaves me little money, basically always. I know I need a job come May 10^th, but I can’t seem to find a balance between the need to pay my bills and the want to follow my dreams.

            Especially when I will be graduating with more debt than the average borrower. Because of my financial independence, I am about $40,000 in debt come graduation day. This article: http://www.consumerreports.org/cro/magazine/2012/04/student-debt-grows-to-alarming-levels/index.htm shows just how bad this student debt problem is. Which leaves me to ask the question, how do we both follow our dreams and pay our bills? What if we value being financially stable over following a dream? Why is this so stigmatized?

            Who decided that we need to know what we want to do on graduation day, anyway? What if I want to just bum around, enjoy the sunshine without an impending pile of homework, and just enjoy my life for the first time in my sixteen years of schooling? Who says that the Monday after I walk across the stage with my diploma is when my “real life” has to start? I have forty years of work ahead of me, complete with a mortgage, health bills and everything else that comes with adult life. I almost can’t blame myself for wanting to hold on to my youth a little bit longer.

            Reading this article on thoughtcatalog: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/im-about-to-graduate-and-im-terrified/ sparked my interest to write about my own experience at this stage in my life. I feel just as terrified as I did as an 18 year-old college freshman, but for completely different reasons. Four years ago, my world was open, but set to a certain path. I knew where I was going, I just didn’t know what I would find. And now, four years later and not that much wiser (at least, not that I can tell), I am terrified because my world is open, and not set to any particular path at all. I get to choose this time, and with so many choices, I’m tempted to not make a choice at all.  

You're Still a Virgin?!

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            In middle school, I was pretty much an outcast. In my class of a whopping 48 students, it was pretty obvious who the popular people were. And everyone else was either friends with each other, or not friends with anyone. I fell into the last category. Besides my best friend Gen, I pretty much braved middle school alone. When I got to high school, I somehow came across my group of six girlfriends who are still some of my best friends to this day. We were an odd group to say the least, I being the black sheep of all of us. They were all skinny and blonde, only bought clothes from Hollister or Abercrombie, and had ways of getting booze and cigarettes with the click of a text message at age 14. I met them all while attending a mutual friend’s party, where I showed up alone and hoped for the best. For one reason or another, they all took me under their wing, so to speak, and I was in the group.

            For the next four years, the biggest thing that divided us as girls was sex. I, being awkward, chubby and more interested in reading novels than going out and getting drunk on a Saturday night, viewed sex as something a million miles away from where I was. Yet, by the time we were in tenth grade, all six girls had already not only lost their virginity, but also had sex with multiple guys. I somehow made it out of high school without too much scrutiny from everyone; after all, I wasn’t completely oblivious to any physical act. I had “fooled around” with people, but for some reason just didn’t see the point in having sex at an age where I barely knew who I was.

            When I came to college, I found a great group of friends who I immediately felt myself around. I no longer felt like the “black sheep” in my beautiful group of girl friends; I had a huge group of people around me who liked the same things I did, who listened to the same music that I did, and who supported me, even through my (still) awkward stage at age 18. With college came new boys and new experiences, but as the first couple years passed by faster than I thought they could, I still hadn’t had sex. It wasn’t like I announced it or made it known; if people found out or asked about it, I was upfront and honest. I felt that I had nothing to hide. I was often met with a shocked face or a tentative question. “Are you like… waiting until marriage or something?” I always smiled and told them no, that I was just waiting. Simple as that. I didn’t understand why people were so concerned and fascinated by the fact that I was a college student who hadn’t had sex yet, just because I didn’t feel that I was ready yet.

            My virginity ended up being a deal breaker for two different guys that I dated while in college. Once they found out that I hadn’t had sex, they shied away and seemingly wanted nothing to do with me. At first my confidence was shattered. Was I some unwanted, unworthy, unsexy being just because I hadn’t felt ready to have sex yet? Who’s to say I didn’t want to, it just hadn’t been the right time? I consoled myself with the fact that if a guy wasn’t interested in me for something I hadn’t even done yet, they weren’t worth my time anyway.

            Flash forward to my senior year in college. 21 years old and still a virgin. I met my current boyfriend in October of this year, and was up front with him from the beginning about the fact that I (shocker) had not had sex yet. I had never viewed sex as the “be all end all” of my innocence, despite the fact that my Catholic school upbringing had made me believe this until I came to college. I didn’t think that I needed to be married to have sex. I didn’t think that I would burn in hell or get pregnant or that I would be a completely different person. The fact of the matter was that I had just never felt ready. If sex wasn’t the single most important thing in sexually active people’s lives, why was my lack of it supposed to be the biggest thing in mine? I became annoyed by the fact that my virginity was seen as a commodity; that I was somehow strange or awkward or not mature enough to handle something that everyone (yes, everyone) that I knew personally had already done. Being the only virgin that I knew of made me feel alienated in a way that I hated. Was I any less of a person, any less of a woman, because I hadn’t had sex yet?

            I always told myself that I would not have sex until I was ready. I realize that “ready” for me and “ready” for other people can be two completely different things, which is why I never based my readiness for sex off of when my friends started having it. However, I have to wonder: were they actually “ready”? Is anyone ever actually ready for something that society puts such a huge weight on?

I knew that for me personally, I wanted my first time to be with someone who I loved and trusted; someone I knew would not leave in the morning and never speak to me again (I’m not saying that this is the case with everyone; I just had heard too many stories about how this had happened to people I knew and didn’t want it to happen to me).

 I didn’t hold onto my virginity with white-knuckled fists because it was extremely important to me; I held onto my virginity because I hadn’t met anyone who I felt comfortable enough with to share that large part of my life.  But why is virginity viewed as such a large part of our life?  Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

            After my boyfriend and I had been dating for a couple months, I finally felt prepared to have sex. Once I did, I did not feel different. I did not feel happier, freer, relieved, or sad. Instead, I felt content that I had waited to be with someone who made me feel at ease with myself and the situation, and that I hadn’t had any hesitations with my decision.  My journey into having a sexual part of my life may be seen by most as unconventional. I have been called “cautious” and “a late bloomer.” And the fact of the matter is that I am completely content with that. I don’t understand the large pressure society has put on girls and boys alike to lose their virginities, while at the same time putting such a focus on “purity” and having something “taken away” from us as women when we finally do have sex. I am extremely glad that I waited to have sex with someone that I cared about, but I don’t think that the fact that I hadn’t had sex needed to be an issue to anyone but me. So what if I was the only virgin I knew for two years? Not being sexually active didn’t define me as a person, just like I won’t let the change define me now.

            The article that inspired me to write about my own sexual experiences is called “Why are adult virgins considered to be backwards in modern society?” I completely related to the bewilderment of people who found out about my virgin status, and couldn’t help but feeling like something is “wrong” with me. The link is here: http://gmwilliams.hubpages.com/hub/Why-are-Adult-Virgins-Considered-to-be-Backwards-in-Modern-Society

            So why is virginity such a big deal in our society? Has it always been this way? Why are we afraid to talk about it, or be okay with the fact that we have not had as much sex as our peers? Why is such a private act something that has become so public when we don’t necessarily want it to be?

Avoidance

            Imagine having a boyfriend who you’re in love with. Then imagine him cheating on you. Then imagine having to see him, on campus, at least once a week. What’s a girl to do? The only possible answer seems to be to avoid them. But is there such a thing as “acceptable” avoidance?

            What happens when you have a major fall out with someone you used to be friends with and you are forced to see them on a daily basis? Granted, I am glad I attend a somewhat larger school where I can easily blend into a crowd of people if I need to strategically not talk to someone. But some days, I wish I were on a campus like the U of M where there is literally two cities distancing me from someone I don’t wish to see or speak to.

            We, as so-called-adults, don’t like to feel like we’re acting immaturely, or that we have let our pasts scar us. However, when we’ve been hurt, it’s hard not to revert back to that feeling of middle school rejection; how can we possibly pick ourselves back up from heartbreak and still seem like we have it all together? We make the conscious choice, every time we see someone from our past that has hurt us, to either avoid them or confront them like the person they are. I find myself going more often towards avoidance; this helps me to have the chance not to feel those rejected feelings that I hate so much.

            Maybe I’ve been scarred from middle school. I attended a private Catholic school for the first 14 years of my life, complete with matching uniforms and bitchy attitudes from all the girls who attended. When I got in a fight with one girl, it was over the fact that she thought I was copying her hairstyle. Looking back, I laugh every time I think about the nights I spent crying in my room over the fact that now she and I both sported the same generic hairstyle, and that she had taken the time to even care. Given the fact that our grade only consisted of 48 people, boys and girls combined, it was literally impossible for me to avoid confrontation with her.

            Now, I have perfected the art of skillfully avoiding someone with the mature elegance of someone too immature to just speak about it. I can’t decide if we think we’re fooling anyone or not. After all, when you inevitably pass someone you used to have some sort of history with, you both are thinking the exact same thing. Yet we will walk by, eyes darting everywhere but their face, hoping that they didn’t see you too.

            There are several instances that provide for an awkward run-in, each with their own set of acceptable rules for how to act in that situation.

            The first is the most common, and perhaps the easiest to know how to act.

            Keep in mind that these run-ins are with people you are no longer friends with, have been feuding with for whatever reason, or simply need to avoid. Not that I am condoning such behavior in any sense. Even the nicest of people seem to have that one person they would rather not see.

            When you walk around campus- either in the hallway or around outside, and you happen to pass that one specific person, the easiest route is to act like you haven’t seen them at all. The awkward eye contact can sometimes be completely avoided, and you can carry on your life like you have never even known their name.

            The second, and probably most embarrassing, is the physical run-in with someone. I may be alone on this score, but I find myself in more embarrassing situations than most people.

            Quite possibly the most embarrassing is physically running into someone you have no intention of ever speaking to again, and having to awkwardly part while purposely not apologizing and pretending you didn’t notice at all.

            It gets quite tiring to keep track of all the ways you think you should act.

            And then there’s the passive aggressive approach. Instead of doing what you think you should when you run into someone you don’t care for, you instead do the opposite. You walk straight toward them, a huge smile on your face, saying their name out loud as you greet them as if nothing has happened.

            Although seemingly the bitchiest, this approach actually makes you seem like the “bigger person,” if such a thing even exists. You will look as if you are an adult that can handle their problems face on, even if behind your fake smile you want to start crying hysterically. Maybe avoidance isn’t the best option after all.

            It’s the easiest social experiment of all. I myself as an avid observer and people watcher really enjoy seeing how I and others react to those they would rather not see ever again. And if they choose kindness and acting as if nothing has happened? Well, maybe that’s the answer.

            After all, what do you have to lose by trying to be kind to someone who has hurt you?

            Life is inevitably too short to try to fix everyone who doesn’t agree with you. I have always been under the impression that I need to care about those who care about me, and accept the fact that not everyone will love me the way they do.

            I can’t change the way people see me, so why even bother to adapt to how they want me to be?

            We can’t take back a huge dramatic fall-out with a friend any more than we can change the fact that we will have to see them, and yes, it will be uncomfortable.

            But the most civilized and most mature option seems to be acknowledging the fact that yes, this person does exist, but no, we will not let this ruin our day.

            After all, aren’t we all fighting our own private battles, not visible to everyone we pass on the street?