As a new year approaches, I’m enjoying my time stuck in grad school limbo

About a week after I walked the stage in May, I received an email from Dornsife welcoming me to the alumni life.

The first paragraph read, “Congratulations to the class of 2023! You are among a record-breaking cohort, with 20,000 graduates conferred. With your well-rounded education from USC Dornsife, we know that you’ll continue to expand your intellectual horizons, broaden your perspectives, and thrive in this next stage of your life.”

I immediately deleted the email. I might’ve graduated, but I sure didn’t feel like an alum — I most certainly didn’t feel like I was in the next stage of my life. The line between undergraduate and graduate studies blur when you pursue them at the same university. And, when all your friends are packing up to move into their new apartments and start their full-time jobs, their post-undergrad transition feels like they leveled up while you’re stuck on repeat.

For the first two and a half years of undergrad, I was set on med school. But somewhere between terrible public health policies made during a pandemic and old Supreme Court justices declaring they know more about medicine than doctors do, I realized law might be a better fit than medicine. I decided that I’d rather try to remedy the broken policies than work compliantly within them. The thing is, while my Bachelor of Science in neuroscience might help me understand the inner workings of the brain, it won’t help me understand those of aging politicians and their outdated image of society. So, here I am trying to get a master’s in the studies of law.

My current impressions of graduate life are comparable to straddling a tightrope with accomplishment at the end and the risk of falling and hitting the concrete path of uncertainty at the bottom. Along with that sensational feeling comes the expectation of shedding my identity as an undergrad and stepping into the shoes of a professional-in-training.

Within the span of a single summer, freshman year imposter syndrome mutated into grad studies imposter syndrome. A relentless internal voice accompanied it, suggesting that my decision to continue my academic journey is merely a result of the disruptions caused by the coronavirus pandemic — an attempt to make up for lost time.

The thing is, the voice is right. I have no idea what I’m doing, but for some reason, I’ve found the collective cynicism that echoes in my mind to be both suffocating and comforting. What’s wrong with asking for more time? I don’t need to or want to level up just yet. It’s a longer route, but I suppose I just work well under pressure, thriving with spite, or maybe it’s an unconscious pattern of masochism — an article for another day.

I was ready to leave my undergraduate self behind. I was ready to evolve and follow my peers down the path of the traditional “post-grad adulthood.” I was ready to leave USC behind and be grateful I didn’t have to deal with the University’s convoluting policies and scandals. I was ready to close this chapter in my life. Yet, here I am. In the same house, on the same campus and still writing for the Daily Trojan.

While the idea of “closing a chapter” after graduation is a romantic notion and one I have desired for years, it’s unrealistic and overly dramatic — giving me chest pains more than anything else.

The vast majority of books may be filled with chapters, but not all are. Chapters give structure and readability to a novel and allow readers to follow the author’s narrative in a clear path. But isn’t life a bit more akin to a continuous narrative? Your story doesn’t need any distinguishable chapters unless you want it to have them. Life isn’t predetermined or scripted as novels often are. The stages in your life don’t always have a clear beginning and ending. If they do, good for you. If they don’t, come join me in limbo. There’s no guide, but we don’t need one.

I continue to get judgemental comments from relatives about not having a well-paying job yet and questions from underclassmen about where I’m going now that I’ve graduated. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’ll find a job … eventually. In a world obsessed with social structures and predefined trajectories, the pressure to have it figured out after graduation is soul-crushing. But, I’m tuning it out with “What Was I Made For?” by Billie Eilish on repeat and Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie” on standby. “The real world is forever and irrevocably messed up,” but if Barbie’s figured it out, so can we.