Graduation was supposed to feel like the climax, right? Like I’d be standing there in my cap and gown having some big, cinematic moment. Cue the applause. Cue the sense of arrival.
But instead it felt like the season finale of a show that got canceled before it could finish the storyline. I’m out here raw-dogging reality with no plot, no script, no clear role. Just vibes and vibes alone.
Everyone Keeps Asking, “What’s Next?”
And I want to scream.
Because I don’t know.
Because I’m scared to admit I don’t know.
Because sometimes I think maybe there isn’t a next, and maybe that’s the scariest thought of all.
What I Am Learning (Very Slowly):
- I’m learning how to sit with stillness.
- I’m learning that being lost doesn’t mean you failed.
- I’m learning to let grief and pride co-exist in the same breath.
- I’m learning that the next version of me might not come with a syllabus—and that’s okay.
If You’re Here Too…
Curled up, crying, waiting for a sign—I see you.
I don’t have a five-year plan. I don’t even have a five-day plan.
But I’m still showing up.
Still opening the curtains.
Still believing that maybe tomorrow, the sun will hit my face just a little differently.
Your Chief Spiral Officer,
– JIW
