Opinion | Wait, I’m graduating?

Mady Dever, Opinions Editor

The thought, “Wait, I’m graduating?” has perhaps hit me a little late in the game. 

I’ve spent my senior year at Chapman University online, away from regular society. (You know the story by now). And I don’t know if my fellow Panthers feel the same, but I was sort of savoring my final months like they were the last few potato chips in the bag. Since my freshman year, I’ve taken full course loads while working on campus and at internships in Los Angeles. I lived off campus for this very reason, along with wanting to save my money for when I graduate (my mindset ever-practical — and you can blame my earth sign for that).

Finishing up my last semester, I have a pretty easy workload and I’m even a part-time student now. Before quarantine, I was so excited to take things slow and just enjoy my final year. I was eager to polish my writing portfolio, maybe work on projects with friends, attend movie screenings at the Dodge College of Film and Media Arts when I never could before because of my night classes or simple exhaustion. 

I even had plans to open myself to new things or participate in something at Chapman I never had before — maybe I’d start a podcast on Chapman Radio or join a new club. It would be my last chance, after all. 

But as I found myself in the midst of a pandemic, that youthful illumination of possibilities slowly faded. I haven't been able to replace the batteries to keep that light on. 

I soon found myself going through the motions. I logged onto class, did my assignments and tried to ground myself in the passion that brought me to this point in my senior year. But often my efforts were in vain. One day, I’d have a burst of inspiration and work intensely on my thesis pilots; others, I ended up finding myself in front of the TV, convincing myself I was doing “research” for my future entertainment career, when in actuality I was rewatching episodes of comfort shows or bad movies that gave me short bursts of escape. 

Sometimes, I’d reorganize my room for the fifth time that week because if I could just compartmentalize everything in my life, maybe the world around me would sort itself into labeled containers. Or maybe I’d try to read that book I’d been meaning to finish but never did and still haven’t because I stop on page 36 every time. 

In somewhat of a vicious cycle, I convinced myself that I was “taking time for myself” or performing acts of much needed “self-care,” because that’s what wellness influencers have been telling me all year. However in reality, I was procrastinating in the biggest way I ever had. This was bigger than the deadline for my first feature film, when I was making drastic edits sheer minutes before the due date. This was bigger than simply “forgetting” to study for a final. I was procrastinating on the moment I had to admit to myself that this was it — what feels like a final moment of youth.

This was my last moment of being on “school time,” a blissful and innocent period where I could reinvent myself every August with a new planner and fresh Ticonderoga pencils, treat myself to a new backpack or formulate a fresh note-taking system. I fell into the trap of new office supply inventions like erasable pens. Maybe I found comfort in something that seemed permanent but wasn’t.

Come May, I will no longer be able to feel that freshness, or have a simple school schedule to control the structures of my days. When I meet new people apart from school, I coil myself into a script of what I “do.” 

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Mady. What do I do? Oh, I’m a student at Chapman University. I’m studying screenwriting.”

It feels like I am losing a piece of my life that has inadvertently defined me for years. I’ve always been just a “student.” I’ve walked through life with this forcefield of protection, or perhaps a barrier, as I have the excuse of telling people, “I’m studying,” “I’m still figuring things out,” or “We’ll see once I graduate.”

But the “we’ll see” train is approaching the station with great speed and intensity, much faster than anticipated, and I wonder if I can just stay on for one more stop longer. I don’t know if I want to say goodbye to this version of my life, nor do I know if I’m ready to. 

I am playing an emotional tug-of-war with myself. At one end is the clockwork student; at the other, a fully developed and educated adult wearing a cap and gown and holding a degree in her hands. I think I’m ready to see the adult win that tug-of-war. I just don’t know where that will take her next. And that's both scary and exciting.