The powerful play goes on

One of the greatest letters ever received...

Project 365 / Project Life - Jan 8

After all the blood, sweat, and tears -- (okay, more like writer's cramp, Starbucks, and tears) -- I see all my hard work paid off. It all went to this moment, seeing that glorious "Congratulations!" Still, I remember feeling like the day of -no more school- would ever come. It feels good to say, "I'm a college graduate." I'm smart and I've worked my ass off the last few years working for this.

Everyone asks, "What are you going to do now?" Sometimes I simply respond, "What do you mean What are you gonna do now??" -- Exactly what I am doing! What is so wrong with working in a retail job? It's a good job, something new every day, good benefits, friendly coworkers, and pretty decent pay as far as I'm concerned. I suppose it is beyond some people that working so hard for my degree wasn't really about "What are you going to do now?" -- it was about personal achievements. It was a goal I set for myself years ago and I didn't want to fail. I loved learning all along the way. Within the English program, I discovered who I am. I found my bliss. Sure, having my degree may (or may not) help advance me in the working world, but that's not what my goal was about.

I don't understand how some people view: career = life. What I do for a living is not who I am. Therefore, getting my degree is not necessarily about where it will take me in the future. While it may help, it was something I needed to do for me. I love the satisfaction of saying that I am a college graduate. I'm smart; I made it; I worked so hard for this and now I have achieved it.

In response to: "What are you going to do now?"

I'm going to revel in my triumph of attaining my BA in English.

I'll also flaunt my knowledge of poetry and leave you with a beautiful poem from Walt Whitman that sums up life:

O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

....

Indeed, Walt. I will contribute my verse.