Today I am talking about Graduation. Not the revolutionary Kanye West album ‘Graduation’…
I mean the end of your uni degree kind of thing, the ‘go start your career’ thing, the ‘be free now and prosper’ kind of thing. Following the end of Semester 1, suddenly I was inundated by a wave of emails and social media messages alerting me to ‘hire academic wear’ and ‘make sure that I am allocated to a ceremony’. Now I’m sure this would have been very helpful for those at the end of their degree, but given I am only 1 1/2 years in to a 5 1/2 year course (CURSE YE LAW DOUBLE DEGREES !) I didn’t pay much attention.
The scary thing is though, some of my single degree friends who started uni my year are now half way through their degree. They are half way to the end of something that for me seems a whole other life away, something that at this distance often doesn’t even seem like a possibility. My mind processes this like that ‘Rugrats’ episode where little Tommy Pickles realises that he is the only one out of his baby gang who hasn’t grown hair yet. Tommy, associating his lack of hair with a constant state of baby-ness, imagines himself all alone in the play pen as his friends Chucky, Lil and Phil (now power suit wearing adults) come to visit him – but are now developed on a level where they cannot properly play with him. Lil – “Sure Tommy, we’ll play with you. But when the big hand *referring to her watch* reaches the top I have to go meet a ‘clim-ate’. I am a ‘busy-ness’ woman now.”
Similarly, I picture myself 3 years from now ( 4 1/2 years into a 5 1/2 year degree) still in my Pyjama bottoms on a Thursday afternoon, furiously typing out a assignment due that night, drinking thermoses after thermoses of bad instant coffee, and asking my friends if they want to go out later that night because it is cheap student night in the Valley and I am crazy broke. My friends however politely decline my offer. You see they are busy running various successful enterprises and creative projects, busy making appointments, busy talking to clients, busy having ‘brunch’, busy getting married, and busy looking after their 9000 children. I know this is a gross exaggeration. But knowing this does little to stop my imagination running rampant from assuming that by the time I actually do graduate I will be a skeleton with a long beard, and maybe being pecked at by vultures, but nobody will notice because I will finally be wearing my graduation gown.
Editors note: double degrees often take only 4 years.