Lately, I’ve been thinking about what my life will look like after graduation. What job will I have? Will I be rich?
Will I be happy?
My heels dig into the grass as I walk down the lawn, legs jittery with excitement. Soon, I’ll receive the degrees I worked so hard for.
I can see myself two years in the future. It's graduation day. My heels dig into the grass as I walk down the lawn, legs jittery with excitement. Soon, I’ll receive the degrees I worked so hard for. Soon, I’ll discover what opportunities they will bring me. I rub my lips together and taste the mango flavor of my lipgloss. The late May heat warms my skin, and a glistening drop of sweat rolls down my face as I begin to perspire. I hope my mascara isn’t smudging. I’ve made my way to the South Lawn now, about to take my seat, daydreaming about the day I graduated high school four years ago. A similar heat surrounded the “Covid class” of graduates sitting on the football field. I remember the cicada that landed on my mom’s leg during a speech, and being excited to leave. The memory of receiving my diploma has since escaped my mind. Yet, it still sits in my childhood bedroom, and I still wear my engraved gold ring that my grandfather gave me during my graduation party.
There’s something about early summer heat. It’s like the air is warmed by the friction of anticipation, of knowing it will only get hotter from here. The beating sun makes it hard to focus, pulling me away from the present. I probably won’t remember much about this ceremony, but I can’t stop thinking about what will happen after.
I daydream about a typical work morning in my future. I could wake up in silky pajamas and roll out of bed, leaving my lush cotton sheets behind. Healthy options from Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods would call my name from the smart fridge in the kitchen. I’d linger over breakfast, letting myself savor the fresh ingredients, then head outside in a pants suit I bought over the weekend. It was expensive, but I liked it, so I didn’t care. Glittery cars wink at me from my driveway. Maybe I’ll choose my brand new Porsche on this imagined day in the future, and drive to work with its fresh paint flashing in the morning sun. Once I get to my job I’ll reluctantly rise from the comfortable leather seats, and begin the work day.
Long, uninteresting meetings. Stifled yawns from my desk. A break for lunch with colleagues. We discuss what our salaries have bought us: an overseas vacation with our families, renovations to our dream homes, gold jewelry to give to our loved ones. Then, back to work, so ready to escape the stifling atmosphere that is our money tree. The work day finally ends and I don’t linger. I rush to the parking garage and zoom away, speeding to meet friends at our favorite restaurant. Chairs will scrape against the outside patio as we sit, glasses will clink as we toast to the end of the week. We lean on each other, crippled with laughter that drifts onto the street from our table. Then, maybe we’ll argue over who will have the pleasure of covering the check as we lounge in the warm evening air of late summer, watching the sun set.
Back on the Lawn, the afternoon sun is getting warmer, pulling me into a different day dream.
Feelings of pride and accomplishment would surge through me the whole day. I’d feel like I was making a difference with my work, that I was excited to come in each morning.
I could wake up in an old t-shirt at the start of the work day. I would jump out of bed and grab a breakfast bar and a coffee from the kitchen, then step outside to greet the morning sun with a smile. Maybe I’d be wearing a comfortable suit, it might be thrifted, but I’d be happy about the rare find. My well-used car would carry me to my vocation. I would spend the day in engaging meetings, intently listening to the ideas from my colleagues. Feelings of pride and accomplishment would surge through me the whole day. I’d feel like I was making a difference with my work, that I was excited to come in each morning. No reluctance would enter my heart if I needed to stay late, only a sense of peace that I would be doing something that matters from nine to five.
Yet, when I would finally leave for home, that well driven car might fail to start. It’s possible I would not have the money to fix it right away. Rather, I would take public transit and rely on colleagues to get me to my job. Worry about how to get home would enter my head, but it wouldn't replace the feelings of contentment. I imagine a colleague lending me a ride, and I’d later enter my house and begin preparing dinner. I’d invite family over, and they would crowd into my small home, warming the space with their bodies as we gathered to eat. They would tell me about their days, and I would eagerly share stories about mine. Our meal wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be made with love that spread from me to them, and throughout the room, like a golden halo.
When that day on the Lawn finally does come, I’m sure I'll daydream through the ceremony about my future life. I likely won’t remember the moment I receive my degree, but I know I’ll remember what happens after. I’ll bask in the sun with friends and family, I’ll be content, I’ll celebrate my accomplishments in the heat, restless with possibilities I am so thankful to have.
