On leaving the bowl of Jello behind

I’ve decided that the sensations surrounding graduating from college closely resemble those of putting your hand in a bowl of fresh, cool, orange Jello. It feels distinctly wrong at first. “Gads! This shouldn’t be here, where did this come from?” But if you relax and let yourself appreciate the texture, the unique flavor of the experience, then it becomes strangely enjoyable.Once you’ve dipped your cerebrum in the juicy, penetrating pigments of higher education, you find yourself anxious to paint the landscape of your future with all the colors your mind has absorbed. It’s discouraging when sometimes the only images that materialize are of corporate logos and war footage. But if you’ve managed to avoid being sedated by beer commercials cleverly disguised as hip-hop and giant TV sets blocking your view of reality, then looking at the future is pretty damned exhilarating.

I happily admit that it’s largely uncharted territory. But somewhere out there is a two-year contract with the U.S. government to bring peace wherever it sends me. Somewhere is the mountain where I’ll marry my boyfriend, and the foothill where I start having babies. I feel the world is in dire need of smart, compassionate kids to grow up to set things alright, and I’m happy to donate 2.5 or so.

Somewhere there’s a tree under which they’ll give me the Nobel Peace Prize for truly making the world safe for democracy at last, ending gender inequality, racism and a host of other cantankerous -isms, and finally unlocking the secret to cold fusion, all in one afternoon. Somewhere is the quiet tributary of old age. And littered throughout are the waiting landmines of daily revolution. They explode in clouds of flowers when stepped on.

Big dreams loom on my horizon like thunderheads. I’ll search for ways to make them collide, to drench the ground in the healing waters of their possibilities. I want to harness their electricity now to get my soul-vehicle moving. I’ve got a long way to go.

Writing for this noble publication has been an adventure unto itself, and one unlike any other intellectual exercise I’ve engaged myself with in my four years of university life. It’s given me an unprecedented opportunity to inform, amuse, puzzle and piss-off an audience much larger than I ever expected.

I’ve had exhaustive electronic conversations with people of all varieties who found something in my words that pricked their hearts or charmed their minds enough for them to want more (although some of the reactions to my war-related columns I’d swear were email auto-responses from Donald Rumsfeld’s Ministry of Goodthink).

The most important things I’ve learned are how to think for myself, and the dangers of being unable to. Unfortunately, it seems that if you let “the system” make up your mind for you, you end up with a lot more health problems (including violent death) and a lot less happiness than you probably deserve.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing I’ve discovered in my 152 credit hours of higher learning is that the hierarchy of human needs can be manipulated in myriad imaginative ways to accommodate the demands of rigorous intellectual development.

The “necessities” of basic cleanliness, nourishment, and sleep can all be sacrificed to the gods of midterm mayhem, entire ecosystems growing bountifully in my kitchen and caffeine pumping violently through my veins. Although such behavior is certainly not recommended, it’s good to know it can be employed to such extremes when needed.

I have high hopes and expectations for life on the outside. I plan to make it so that I don’t have to leave my circumstances to find adventure, and the term “vacation” holds absolutely no meaning for me. I’m where I want to be, doing what I want to be doing, almost all of the time.

In conclusion, when shouldering all the rights and responsibilities of the future, I recommend daily exercise of the voice and imagination. We live on a big, beautiful ball of mud that deserves better than what she’s getting. Don’t leave it to people like me to fix things; life will become way too weird and groovy for most people to deal with (bubble-powered SUVs, mandatory daily naps, city-wide sing-a-longs, etc.).

I would write more, but it’s hot outside, and I’m done with school. Water balloons and cold beer await.

Thanks and adieu.