The Big Finish

I’m sleeping on a mattress on my floor tonight, because I carried my bedframe down to the living room today. Half of my stuff [probably more than half, actually] is already nestled in to the trunk of my car, ready for Monday’s road trip up to Philadelphia. It’s time to say goodbye to Williamsburg.

One week ago, I graduated from college. But it definitely didn’t feel like the big moment that I’d been looking forward to for four years. I watched our graduation ceremony on YouTube in my friends’ living room. All in all, it was wildly anticlimactic. I threw my graduation cap up into the air and it hit the low ceiling, bending the corner a little bit. No worries though, I have time to straighten it out before we walk for real in October.

These past couple months of lockdown have thrown me into an odd headspace. On the one hand, this was the end of my senior year of college. There were so many things that I was supposed to be doing: Wednesday mug nights with friends, trips to Richmond for cake and wine with the girls, knowing my last college class would be my last college class when it happened. I was supposed to defend my thesis in person, perhaps go out for a drink after with professors in person, feel sad about leaving Tucker Hall for the last time in person, with the opportunity to touch my hands to the bricks and wish it goodbye. And so in many moments, I feel a sense of unfairness, of having had something taken from me—this experience of finishing college in person.

All of the excitement that is supposed to come with that feels incredibly delayed. We will graduate “for real” in October—walk across the stage in our regalia and introduce our parents to our favorite professors over cheese and crackers. But that means that we’re not graduating “for real” now. And so it doesn’t have the weight and finality that I had always expected. I haven’t yet processed that it’s really over, because it kind of isn’t. We’ll be back in a few months. So, while I feel angry and a little cheated, I didn’t feel the early-onset nostalgia for Williamsburg.

That is, until tonight. I finished my last shift at Baskin Robbins, which oddly felt more final than the English Department graduation ceremony. My coworkers made a big deal out of little things—it’s Quinn’s last time mopping the floor, it’s Quinn’s last time scooping a scoop. I appreciated that. I felt celebrated. On the day of graduation, the celebration felt somewhat false, or forced in some way. We had to be happy because this was supposed to be our day. But it wasn’t our day. Our day had been put off.

But today felt final. I entered the alarm code at Baskin Robbins [for the last time!] and shut the door behind me when I left. I hugged my coworkers goodbye in the parking lot. And now I’m lying on the mattress on my bedroom floor and I feel sad. I feel nostalgic. I think of myself in the future, thinking back on the days when I was in college and I scooped ice cream for a living. I think of myself in the future thinking back on this moment, right now. Lying on the mattress, surveying the blank walls of my bedroom. In the two years that I lived in this house, I had accumulated some good wall décor. My Kurt Cobain poster, a relic of freshman year, graced the space above my headboard. On the adjacent wall, my cactus tapestry, one of the few things I’m bringing with me to my next home. I also had a collection of amateur art, some collages I had made and drawings and paintings gifted to me by friends, and a bulletin board covered in pinned tickets and photos. Now it’s just me, my mattress, and a lamp.

That feels pretty final to me. The empty room, the packed up car. I anticipate crying when I drive past William & Mary for the last time on my way back home in a couple days. I know I’ll feel sad when I leave this house that I’ve lived in for the past couple years and the lovely housemates that I’ve lived with. My room is about to no longer be “my room” anymore.

But I’m also going to have a new room. In Baltimore, where I’ll be teaching fifth grade math—and I can’t wait! I’ve been excited in the abstract for what comes after college for a while now. I have my whole life ahead of me, what’s not to be excited about? It hasn’t felt concrete though until tonight. And I think it’s because college, life in Williamsburg, didn’t feel over until tonight. Something new can’t begin when the previous phase hasn’t ended yet, I don’t think. So I’m grateful for my last shift at Baskin Robbins. I’m grateful for my empty room and the going-away cake that I’m planning to share with my friends tomorrow. I’m lucky to have these things that make this time feel like the end of something, because they’re letting me come around to the idea of a new beginning.

In what feels like a very timely manner, I’m also turning 22 tomorrow! Obviously I’ve had no say in my birthday falling at the end of May [and often times I’ve actually really disliked that timing because it became a summer birthday in college], but this year it feels just right. As my twenty-second year comes to a close, my twenty-third one begins. As my time in Williamsburg ends, a new adventure starts in Baltimore.

I’m happy to feel sad. I’m grateful for a semblance of closure. I’ve had an astoundingly wonderful four years here, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I’ve gotten to spend my time doing what I love more than anything: learning. I discovered a new sport that became an inextricable part of my life [hello, rowing! and also running actually!]. I’ve met the people that I hope I still know in fifty years, and that’s the most important thing. We may not have closed our time here in Williamsburg with the big finish that we all imagined, but the next phase awaits anyway. We’ve got to take what finalities we can get, so that we can shift focus and look ahead. There’s a lot to look forward to out there!