Dear James: I Hate My Post-college Life
Editor’s Note: Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles a reader’s existential worry. He wants to hear about what’s ailing, torturing, or nagging you. Submit your lifelong or in-the-moment problems to dearjames@theatlantic.com.
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Dear James,
I am a young adult who recently graduated from college, finally getting a taste of the real world, and I hate it. No longer bound by classes or any requirements, I am feeling more lost than ever. The realization that I am truly free to do anything I want is absolutely suffocating. I have never felt anxious in my life. Now that I find myself in this world that is boundless and full of potential, I feel like a dog that finally caught the ball but has no idea what to do with it.
Dear Reader,
What a beautiful letter. I’m going to draw a distinction here between “the real world”—which you, quite properly for a young person, hate—and “the world that is boundless and full of potential,” which is something else. In fact, we might even say that the former was created to help us manage, or cope with, the latter. The real world is the mind-blowingly elaborate fiction of jobs, cellphones, forks, tollbooths, Hulu passwords, and dental appointments that engulfs us every day and consumes us completely. The boundless world is the radiance of existence itself, always pushing through and generous without limit. And as my first shrink used to say, his ginger eyebrows flying, “I think what we’re looking for here is a balance.”
Too cloudy, too mystical-sounding? I hope not. Because the real world without the boundless world is a nightmare. A hollow, clanging procession of days! Similarly, an excess of boundlessness can do your head in: You want that crunch of necessity now and again, to stop you from floating off altogether. And the two worlds are not opposed or out of sympathy. William Blake said it: “Eternity is in love with the productions of time.”
Here’s a thought for you: You are not, actually, free to do anything you want. You are constrained by who you are and where you are and—if you want to do something seriously—what you’re good at. This should come as a relief. The options are not infinite. So then it becomes a matter of discernment. Of learning what works for you, where you connect. Of allowing the two realms—the boundless and the finite—to negotiate with each other via the medium of you. Of waiting, basically, for the deeper design of your life to reveal itself. Which can take a while. Which can drive you nuts. On a dark day, it might look like chaos, antagonism, dog-eat-dog-that-caught-the-ball. But have faith: The deeper design is there. The lack you feel so acutely right now is what’s alerting you to its presence. One day, when you look back, it will be glowingly obvious—but we can only live forwards, can’t we, groping and blundering into the possible. The trick is to keep going.
Hang in there, young adult,
James
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