I've been out of college for 936 days now.
As a self-purported blog about "life after the academy," you'd think I'd have started keeping track of this a lot sooner. I guess I finally found some semblance of balance somewhere between work-or-die mode, and work-or-bad-things-will-happen mode.
As I sit here in my best attempt at recreating one of the Hargrove, music library cubicles, with books ranging from political theory to finance to philosophy to wizards scattered across the desk, it's hard to imagine that it has been so long (some things never change, thankfully).
It feels a bit silly to track this, but I do it if for no other reason than to remember the general sense of abundance of being that we all (if I may speak for the others) felt while negotiating the very depths of our existence (and more usually the streets of Berkeley at two in the morning), and perhaps, just perhaps, I do it so that I can begin to nurture that gratitude once more outside of the Academy.
As a self-purported blog about "life after the academy," you'd think I'd have started keeping track of this a lot sooner. I guess I finally found some semblance of balance somewhere between work-or-die mode, and work-or-bad-things-will-happen mode.
As I sit here in my best attempt at recreating one of the Hargrove, music library cubicles, with books ranging from political theory to finance to philosophy to wizards scattered across the desk, it's hard to imagine that it has been so long (some things never change, thankfully).
It feels a bit silly to track this, but I do it if for no other reason than to remember the general sense of abundance of being that we all (if I may speak for the others) felt while negotiating the very depths of our existence (and more usually the streets of Berkeley at two in the morning), and perhaps, just perhaps, I do it so that I can begin to nurture that gratitude once more outside of the Academy.
Perhaps you're just past the mourning stage, and into the "alright, this is a new life, let's f*%#ing optimize it" stage.
ReplyDeleteI do feel (I for one at least) had brief flashes of mourning at first arrival at Berkeley. But the difference is that the sheer, unconstrained stimulation all around quickly numbs you to such pangs; that, and being surrounded by minimally-not-imbecilic people served as constant comparison.
So post-college, I think, we have to make that stimulation ourselves. And the acceptance of that responsibility (and that agency) is, admitting triteness, growing up.