2 min read
When I finished school, we had a dramatic valedictory assembly which involved being paraded in front of the staff and parents, having our university destinations triumphantly announced and singing the school hymn. Afterwards we processed out and I wept. Looking back, I’m not sure why – I didn’t particularly enjoy school and I don’t remember being sorry to leave.
On the other hand, I completely loved university, and in particular my college, which felt more and more like home each term. During university I was my most wild, carefree and joyful, because at no other time can one really stay up until three in the morning on a Thursday with friends, drinking cheap cider, watching absurd YouTube videos and filming extraordinarily complex Snapchat stories. I’ll probably never have the chance to just mess around without repercussions ever again, and I find that very distressing. And yet, at my graduation three weeks ago, I did not shed a tear.
At no point have I found myself particularly overwhelmed or emotional about graduating, which I feel, for me, is quite unusual. I had expected myself to be low, grumpy and unproductive during these weeks, longing for Cambridge and my old rhythm which kept me motivated, and my friends who I would giggle with until the wee small hours. But I’m actually feeling pretty fresh and bouncy, and I’ve been sending off all sorts of application forms and researching masters courses and travel plans for next year, and I’ve spent lots of time with home friends and with my parents. If anything, I’m busier and more cheerful now than I was during my last weeks of uni.
Perhaps it’s because I expected to feel such an anti-climax that the reality has been really quite manageable in comparison. Perhaps it’s because I’d forgotten how great home, and London, are while I was away and desperately cherishing the last few weeks. Or perhaps it’s because, somewhere in my subconscious, I actually have a choice about whether or not to wallow and feel miserable, and that bit of my brain has decided to steam on through and make things happen, rather than letting me collapse. I think if I could collapse right now, I probably would.
But I think the most likely reason for my lack of intense emotion is that I know that now is the time for me to have a bit more freedom, to feel more adult and to test new responsibilities and roles. I’ll always love filming ridiculous videos in the library in the middle of the night, but maybe I know that living like that is unsustainable, and in the end will only make me feel held back and stunted. I think I’m more likely to feel liberated now by being a grown-up in a grown-up world, not a big kid putting off responsibility and going to clubs three times a week.
This isn’t to say that I plan on abandoning silliness. I don’t think I could ever do that – I don’t like taking myself too seriously and I would hate my life if I couldn’t partake in absurd endeavours for no reason at all. Idiocy makes me happy. But maybe commuting around London, opening my bank statements and hoovering my room will be things which make me feel like I’m entering a new stage of my life, as I should be, and won’t depress and intimidate me. I don’t need to be upset about graduating, because I know rationally that, clichéd as it may be, lots of very exciting things lie ahead.
Noa Gendler has just graduated from the University of Cambridge, where she studied English Literature. Before that she attended North London Collegiate School. She is a seasoned Limmudnik and is involved in Marom, the Masorti young adult community.