Since I was a child, my introduction has been the same.
“Hello my name is Cassidy Dyce, and I’m a student.”
But in the wake of graduation, this no longer rings true. Now, I’m struggling to complete the sentence. Striping away the title of student leaves a blank in my introduction. And now with a thin piece of paper and years of knowledge embedded in my brain, I’m tossed into the adult world.
I’m trading classrooms for cubicles, replacing professors with managers, and exchanging homework for reports. My GPA is now my credit score.
Some students are ready to take this step. Their extensive internships and jobs turned their stained t-shirts into pressed suits before the commence of their senior year. But then there are students like myself — those who became comfortable in student life. Those of us who focused on the sunshine of the day rather than counting the hours to the next moon.
My University did its job. It equipped me with the tools necessary to move on. They gave me a blank journal with fresh pages, but now I must decide what to write.
And if I’m, to be honest, I’m terrified to place my pen on the page. I’m petrified of writing my sequel without a plan. My educational career was written in the stars, predetermined. I did not create a new narrative; I followed the existing path.
As graduation nears, I’m fighting to become comfortable with this change. I’m attempting to focus on the positive and count my blessings. So here’s to me.
Here’s to having more questions than answers.
Here’s to new experiences over the horizon.
Here’s to the past 17 years that led me to a cap and gown.
Here’s to embracing rational spontaneity.
Here’s to the lessons I’ll collect.
Here’s to the failures and successes promised.
Here’s to starting this story in the middle.
They say that only death and taxes are promised in life, but they forgot about change. In the words of a great friend, “change is neither good nor bad it just is.” So I’ll work on replacing my fear with curiosity as I continue to search for a fitting title to fill my blank.