feeling adrift, hard goodbyes, being home

This time last week I graduated from Bowdoin College, moving my tassel from right to left as i stepped down the granite museum steps. There were tears, hugs, congratulations, and far too many cameras- and that afternoon, although nostalgic and emotional, was also joyful and brimming with accomplishment. A week later I sit at home in Alaska, feeling adrift in life. The feeling was something I couldn't prepare for. I knew all semester, all year, from the day I started at Bowdoin, that I would eventually graduate and begin something new, and despite periods of fear and misgiving, I have mostly been excited to move on and become an adult, living in a world that isn't bounded by dormitories and dining halls. Unfortunately, moving on isn't all that simple. I don't feel different from before- my diploma didn't transmit any superpowers, or even any directive sense of certainty. Instead, i feel far less certain than when I had my direction handed to me by professors and college career advisors: write a paper on this topic, make a kick-ass resume, achieve a respectful GPA. Bowdoin, for three and a half years, was my home, and a place where I learned how to think, question and also how to simply be. Bowdoin was also a place that handed me goals and structure, and life feels much more challenging without those. If i had to fill out any tax-forms today I could no longer circle "Student", now i need to switch to "Unemployed".
The identity and direction I found as a student is easier to say goodbye to than some of the friends I made along the way. In the last year I became more aware of how suspiciously I approach my friendships, of how difficult it is for me to rely on people that I am not in romantic relationships with. This realization led to some changes, and to much deeper connections with individuals I felt really knew me. I think many great relationships develop close to the end, because we finally realize how little we have to lose by sharing ourselves with others. There is also less fear of rejection, and this increased understanding of the potential and worth of the people around you upon realizing that they won't be there for very long. When I first came to Bowdoin I was hardly homesick, it wasn't until I went to Nepal that I really experienced that emotion. Upon leaving Maine, and the many people I came to love there, I feel their loss sharply.
This isn't to say that Alaska hasn't sunk deep hooks into my heart: I love the mountains, the long summer days, my dad and my sister who live in my childhood home, a manly bearded man, and many other old and new friends. None of them have shared or are a part of the community that was my primary investment for the last 4 years, but I know that I will re-connect with this magical space over time. I have never been particularly patient, and generally deal with sadness with a heavy week-long dose of young-adult fiction and homemade popcorn. I know that, above all, getting involved in Alaska and it's community, finding a job and getting to know new people will all help with this transition. Being present is so challenging- it is easy and tempting to disappear into insubstantial distractions like the internet and cable TV- but engaging in Alaska, truly and comfortably, will take effort and awareness. I've mentioned before how I wish I could get tattoos to remind me of important realizations. This poem of Rumi's I have used many times, i'm sure i've quoted it here. When I need to remember the magic of living, to be present in what surrounds me and appreciate it, this poem always helps:

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.