So you’ve graduated. Sorry about that; life is hard, isn’t it? Don’t you just long for the easy days of submitting discussion board posts, agreeing with bad ideas in a class discussion, and pretending to understand what you’re saying? Right about now, you’ll start to pine for the gentle embrace of a poorly written essay due at midnight. You’ll crave the high of finding that word for “excited but not like, completely?”
But most of all, you’ll miss the kind criticism of a burnt-out English professor.
Adulthood, as it is currently structured, means that most of us don’t get to hang out with any more laid-back English professors. They simply fade out into the depths of a Facebook feed (the cool ones friend you on social media, obviously). A photo of their kid’s soccer game will give you a jolt of euphoria, reminding yourself of when they said “Good point!” on your essay about capitalism in that English book from the 18th century. Was it really a good point, or were they just giving you a drop of faith that everything you produce isn’t a dictionary of hot garbage, but rather clay ready to be molded by their mind?
But now, no one molds the dumb clay brain. According to a very expensive piece of paper, the clay has been molded. If not completely, it’s… good enough… yeah, it’s fine. Just put it in an office or send it somewhere else to be molded more. Either way, you’re molded, even if you don’t feel moldy.
Some people might be able to help you chase that high. You can satisfy yourself quickly, like talking to a guy at a bar who read Infinite Jest. Let him regale you with David Foster Wallace facts the way your English professor used to explain historical contexts. Ask him a dumb question, and listen to him flounder while trying to assert his knowledge over something so dumb. Your professor used to do the same thing. Remember when you asked why Shel Silverstein isn’t considered fine literature? However, this guy at the bar won’t ever tell you “Great thesis!” or “Elaborate on this” and so, the void will not be filled.
You could call your parents. They’ll satisfy the same ridiculous faith in your talents. Send them your writing and they’ll come back with “Wow! Honey, this was great!” The only downside is their consistent follow-up question. No Mom, it’s not paid, but it’s fine! I’m getting my name out there! The worry of your future is not as easily worked through as the worry of your idea not matching the prompt yet, so this will inevitably leave you empty too.
The authenticity of kindness will be harder to nail down. Your local barista might smile and say “Have a great day!” But it doesn’t ring as true as when your former professor said, “Have a good winter break, everyone!” Your boss might compliment your steady output, but you know that they profit from it, while your professor actually got more work because of the diligence. Nothing hits quite like an older professional wanting to help you, and adulthood is harder because of it.
At least you don’t have to go to dorm parties ever again.