To the well-meaning post-post-graduates:

When you ask me what I'm doing now that I'm done with college, I have no right to be angry with you. It is a natural question, and it's even possible that you are genuinely curious. (Although if you are not, I suppose it is an easy way to direct what might otherwise be an awkward conversation, so I should still cut you some slack.) In all likelihood, you mean well. In all likelihood, you do not realize the mounting frustration this question causes me, the dread I feel when I see it form on your lips. You hope I have an interesting answer. You probably assume I do.

My response may sound rehearsed, but that is only because I have delivered it about six hundred times before, to other well-meaning inquirers. Also perhaps because I have detached myself from the sound of my voice and hope to skate through this conversation on auto-pilot. Unless I deem that it will take an unpredictable turn, away from the sympathetic nods, the “what was your major again?” question, that moment of silence where you try to think of something encouraging to say—but this is unlikely.

You care about me, probably. At the very least you are being polite and do not intend to annoy me. I should thank you for your concern. Unfortunately, this is not a conversation I want to have, and I may have trouble forcing an upbeat tone. My eyes may shift to the left or right as I look for an escape route. Do not be alarmed. This is not your fault. You are not aware of the problem to which you are contributing.

The problem is this: When you ask me what I'm doing with my life and give me consoling nods or say things like “you'll figure it out eventually” or “you're still young,” I do not feel encouraged. When you say that you are praying this time of transition will be short for me, I do not feel supported. Even the friendly, reminiscing remarks about your own struggles during your post-college years—often these do not inspire me in the way I want to be inspired. Comments like these only reinforce the kind of mentality that I am currently trying to flee, trying to fend off for the sake of my sanity. I do not want to believe that the only way to be happy is to accept the fact that I am not going to find fulfillment in my current stage of life. I do not want to be reminded that this stage will soon end, as though that is something I should be looking forward to eagerly and doing my best to expedite.

Do not tell me that my life is on hold, that I am in a waiting stage, that this too will pass. I know you mean well. I know you want the best for me. But maybe that begins with reassessing the way you view “stages of life” and how and why we progress from one to the next. (Progress isn't even the right word here. Move would be more accurate; it's more neutral.) I do not want to be the kind of person—the kind of person most of us naturally are—that is always looking one or two steps ahead and never at the ground directly beneath my feet. I do not want to delude myself into thinking that once I get my “dream job” and move to the “next stage,” I will suddenly find the fulfillment I was previous lacking. I have to believe that anyone is capable of finding that at any point in their life. And from my short experience on this earth, I have discovered that the much-anticipated next turn rarely offers the amount of satisfaction I desire.

Perhaps I am being overly picky here. Perhaps I am reading too much into the subtleties of language and vocal expression. But I don't think so. I think there is something fundamentally wrong with the way we (both recent college graduates and not-so-recent) approach the months or years that comprise this post-college “phase” and the way that we talk about it. When we assume a level of barrenness in our emotional and spiritual well-being simply because we have yet to “find our way,” we sell ourselves and others short. We should not look at this time primarily as preparation for some future stage. In a way it is preparation, just as all moments are preparation for future moments, but to view it primarily in this light is to limit its possibilities.

I want to live fully now. I want to embrace my job, the people around me, the spaces I occupy now. When people give me sympathetic looks, when people tell me to hang in there, I feel like I'm not allowed to be satisfied yet. I feel like I'm not supposed to be happy until I obtain that next level. But what is that next level? And what if I am happy? What if I am content with my life as it stands, unglamorous as it may be? (Or at the very least, trying to be content.) I don't want anyone to give me an excuse not to look for joy and meaning in the present.

So I admit, I don't want to work for FedEx delivering packages forever. It's not exactly my ultimate goal in life. But I also don't want to define success so narrowly that I assume God can't use me where I am now. It's true that driving trucks doesn't require a college degree in English Writing. But I can use my writing skills in other ways (like this blog, for example), and I'm not going to accept that my identity lies in my career or even—that loaded word—vocation anyways. Those things come and go. If I want to find meaning, it has to be in the only thing that is not transient.

Perhaps you can see now why this conversation often frustrates me. As I seek to navigate the complexity of living, it does not help to be continually reminded that I have yet to “arrive” according to the world's standards. I don't want to care about that. Please don't make me feel like I should.

I can't expect you to stop asking me question about my life and plans. Like I said, I understand that this is a natural curiosity. But maybe you could show more concern for my present adventures than my future ones. Maybe we could both help each other to appreciate the gifts of this day before we look forward to those anticipated tomorrow.