Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The End.

As of May 15th & 16th I am a college graduate.
And despite the up-to-the-minute finals and barrage of family members, I can only describe it as fairytale-like with rushed memories of tumultuous weather, garlands, sangria spilt on a white dress, happiness, golden best friends...

I began college hating it and have ended it, so in love and not wanting to leave.
And I'm counting that as my biggest success.

That's the way I am with everything though, it just takes time to adjust and to build a life.
I would beg and plead with anyone to not waste as much time as I did worrying and freaking out about the meaning of life/why hasn't this or this happened yet/I'm behind/I'm too ahead/who am I/direction/where am I going/what am I doing/what are other people thinking and take more advantage of exactly what's in front of you. "Eating the ice cream while it's on your plate," if you will. Like, before it melts.
Not that a little evaluation isn't important now and again, but...ugh, I'm such a pathologically pathetic worrier.
I arrived at the end, completely in awe of how surreally wonderful my life in Norman has been.
So, don't for a minute change the place you're in.

And if I've learned anything from that, I'll now enter into the immediate post-grad years with a sense of adventure and a spirit of excitement about the uncertain and unknown. 

Books perfect for graduation, that never ever get old. I mean, I reread them a million times and still discover new truths:
The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
Oh The Places You'll Go by Dr. Suess.

Inspiring stuff I've seen lately:
TV on the Radio.
The Visitor. Agh, so so good! Music may just be the purest thing in the whole wide world. 

I think it would be interesting to research the significance, if any, Southern writers have on readers in other countries (China immediately comes to mind, but any country would work). I mean, is there even an appetite in these places so far removed from the culture, a capacity to understand something by John Steinbeck, Harper Lee, Mark Twain, Margaret Mitchell, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Zora Neal Hurston, William Faulkner...
I'm reading Toole's Confederacy of Dunces right now and keep thinking, what would this mean to a Bangladeshi hungry for American literature?!?
But then again, would I really want to devote my life to compiling a thesis that would end up in some obscure journal, read by all of five people? No.

I have a lot of friends going on solo trips with boyfriends this summer and I'm wondering why traveling together is such a good litmus test for a relationship?
Because you see how one deals with being someplace different, being outside their comfort zone? How easygoing, flexible they can be? Their sense of fun and adventure and energy level? There's no hiding? 

After watching the ending scene of the finale, is it possible that I love Jim even more now?
I am aware that every girl in the world loves Jim, but don't we all convince ourselves that somehow our fictional love is more meaningful, special, important, more real than the next persons...

Anyway, that's the end (of the college years).