writer, artist, indigo.

Month: January, 2014

Confessions of a Chronic Social Media Over-Sharer

A definition: http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/overshare

If you’re not familiar, get familiar, via these articles, if you are, skip em:



Ok. I am an unrepentant, chronic online ‘over-sharer’, and I don’t think I should be ashamed of it, nor will I temper myself or concede with judgments of my chosen style of social media use as misguided, a result of a ‘failure to compartmentalize’ or a ‘need to get attention’. (It’s interesting how the wire observes that this critique is often launched at female bloggers. Hmmm.) No, Slate, I am fully self aware in my honesty and I am not some pathetic ‘exhibitionist’, this is not information I ‘would not reveal otherwise’. If people are critical of what I post because they are staunch advocates of privacy and keeping to themselves, they can look the other way. I’m a person, we’re all people, we’re all in this life together beyond the arbitrary boundaries we constantly erect between each other. I want to express who I really am online and find like minded people by doing so, and that’s totally valid. If you want to be private, that’s cool too and nobody is judging you, so why are so many writers today penning critical articles projecting their own fears of ‘oversharing’ on line? Who decides what is ‘too much’ and who made them the authority? I am sharing out of love, not out of fear. If people don’t like it, move on to ‘safer’ less personal pastures. I think our fear of oversharing is, in other words, our collective tendency to feel afraid of being truly honest, a self-conscious tendency to put what others may think of us before what we think of ourselves.

With all due respect to the myriad of bloggers and writers who take to the internet to lament the oh-so- terrible ‘over-sharing problem’ we apparently have today, naming all kinds of pathologies that are supposedly at its root, I will keep baring my soul, and you can keep your respectability and your pseudo nostalgic yearnings for a contrived ‘private’ past, thanks. Took me a bit to get to this conclusion though. Here’s a snapshot of that process/a new style of dialog type writing I’m trying out:

(Aggregated critiques of over-sharing online:)

Stop over-sharing about your private life, girl. Not only is it not important, it might hurt your career possibilities in the future! Employers will look you up and read about how you were depressed. They’ll read about your bipolar diagnosis! The stigma of imperfection! Vulnerability is bad! No! No! Are you stupid? Get a grip on reality. You’ll probably end up working for someone else, that’s most people’s lot in life regardless of their cute little dreams. If you don’t hide them, they’ll see the Facebook photos of you in college, drinking and smoking, dressing in provocative clothing, partying like the twenty something you are, having fun. Not good. They’ll trace you online and see all the fucked up things you admitted about yourself in your blog! You’ll ruin your chances to appear like an impressive, responsible worker with her head on straight and a squeaky clean social media image! Fuck, Coral! You’d better erase that shit before you settle down and start looking for a real job, because no real boss is going to hire you. Besides, focusing on and sharing about the self is narcissism, you self-absorbed blabbermouth, er….blabberhands! All this me, me me. Get over yourself. Why don’t you write about things that objectively matter? And another thing, social media is making you lonely, you need to get out there and talk to someone face to face for crying out loud. Publicly putting your personal troubles out there for all to see just shows how misguided you are, what ever happened to etiquette? You can’t just say whatever you want. Not only is it important to think about what future bosses and grumpy middle aged women at HR will think, it’s highly important to consider what is and is not appropriate in social settings in general and tailor your words to fit those expectations, Coral. Don’t be so naïve and open, especially with strangers. Your honesty will come back to bite you one day! Be aware of what others will think of you! Back in the day, kids used to have private diaries. It’s a shame that everyone wants to be so out there now. It’s fine to blog, but some things are meant to remain private, and that’s that.

(My opinion)

Well then. No need to be so mad at me. Jesus. If, in the future, it was my intention to work as an employee for a firm or company, especially the kind that googles my name, finds evidence of a multifaceted, complex human being with issues, quirks, and imperfections, and quickly crosses me off the list, well, you’d have a point. But it ain’t. So fuck em. Guess I’m not respectable enough, then. (The nerve, who do you think you are?!) Hey! I’m talking. I didn’t interrupt you! LIKE I was saying before being so rudely interrupted: If they can’t factor in my so called ’imperfections’ as part of the richness and wholeness of my personhood; if they discount me for falling short of some bullshit ideal, then their workplace policies and vibe are probably repressive, conformist and stifling, and they can and should dump my resume with the quickness. Unless I’m writing about fantasies of mass murder on my blog, chill out. If I do work for someone else, I would like that to be a company that respects the fact that I am an actual human being, not a resume, not the ‘worrisome’ findings of a Google background check, not the raised, judgmental eyebrow of Mrs. Human Resources. I’m NOT your human resource. And if the contents of my blog make you uncomfortable, you should probably do some soul searching your self. Maybe start your own? (Oh, please, I have better things to do. Like pass well meaning judgment on you for instance. I’m only trying to help you see that Hey. I’m. Still Talking.

Listen. (I’m listening. *sulks*)  First of all, what if I want to live for today and not for some theoretical point in the future? What if I want to blog to react to my feelings in the moment rather than keeping silent about them for some guy in an office and his possible opinion of me? Besides, I want to be my own boss in the future. And, I both like and personally benefit from being as honest as I feel like being, as often as I want, in real life and on social media. I drink, I smoke, I do ‘bad’ things. So does theoretical boss, and he knows it He’s human too. Doesn’t mean we both don’t work hard, doesn’t negate my talent, but come on, of course I have problems that I’m trying to work through. People who think it’s bad to put the not-so pretty aspects of ourselves and our lives ‘out there’ tend to be the types to repress those things in themselves and put up fronts to others. I’m human, and hiding that, even by omission, feels like a betrayal of myself, feels like I am buying into the shame we all buy into when we accept external definitions of what is ‘good’ and ‘bad’, what is ‘safe’ or ‘acceptable’ to reveal to others. And besides, what are we agreeing with when we see online evidence of these so-called ‘transgressions’ as a shameful stain on our reputation? The wolves on Wall Street aren’t paying for their transgressions, are they? Lets not pretend, some can and do get away with whatever they want because they have money and power. Besides, the only real reputation I have is the one among the family and friends who actually know me.

Moving on. There are legitimate reasons for what you proclaim to be an ‘over-sharing’ problem. To me, social media is not some vehicle with which I can spew my narcissistic, self-deluded navel gazing out into an unsuspecting public. I blog for my circle of friends and for anyone else who can relate and wants to discuss experiences and ideas. I do it to keep my loved ones, who live all over the word, in the know about what I’m up to. I’m very introverted, so writing and sharing online works out beautifully for me. I blog candidly about my inner world to reach out and connect to others on a deeper, more honest level. I look around and intuitively perceive that as a rule, we hide, we often do not share, when we could. We don’t feel safe enough, or we see it as pointless, embarrassing, no use, what about etiquette, right? (Random PSA: If I hear ONE MORE ARTICLE bashing something that Generation Y overwhelmingly partakes in, I’m pressin charges.) Believe it or not, I really like the feeling of being alarmingly upfront, personal and authentic in my blogging. Not because I am too caught up in myself to believe that I am the most important topic in the world or because I have some psychological ‘issue with boundaries’. Lol, don’t get it twisted. It’s because authenticity, within and with others, is one of my dearly held values, something that defines the essence of who I am. (There you go talking about you again) Yes, I am. Life is experienced through the lens of the subjective self, and I think that using social media to share ourselves is a great way to open up to other people in social world that we all know discourages raw honesty. I do best with all things subjective and raw and personal. I find strength in being vulnerable. I used to hate that about myself, thinking I was ‘awkward’ for NOT knowing how to not be personal, for having this enormous impulse to self disclose and forego conventional conversational barriers. (I have made a few people uncomfortable with my candidness before, but most people end up respecting me for it. I’ve found that the more I refuse to wear a mask, the more likely people are to take theirs off, and look, there you have it, a real foundation for building a connection between two souls. The private messages I get from people ‘oversharing’ right back to me in return are worth so much more to me than a phone call from a job I will hopefully never apply for anyway, and they are worth the possibility of being seen as weird and ‘too open’ by those who praise ‘healthy’ compartmentalization.

Masks are the norm and ‘oversharing’ is historically taboo in atomizing, alienating American society, which is probably the greater systemic reason for millions of people taking to the Internet to reach out to one another in the first place. Everything in context, you know? I ‘overshare’ to counteract the very real pressure to ‘appear’ a certain way, to use social media to market myself and display a superficial image that will objectify me for consumption by my peers and future employers.  Don’t you find it a little weird that in a time where mental illness is apparently epidemic, our earth is dying, and the wage gap is incredible, there remains a heavy blanket of stigma against ‘oversharing’ that keeps us alienated in our suffering by making it ‘normal’ to keep conversations and interactions ‘light’ and detached? I do. And if you don’t, that’s cool. But that doesn’t make me wrong, and it doesn’t make you right. It’s all perspective. Think of it this way: can we not do a perceptual script-flip and argue that there is a huge problem with ‘undersharing’ that the internet is having a dope affect on? How can people ever know that they are not alone in their subjective experiences if we as individuals do not talk about them? The internet the critics want is fucking boring, anyway.

Like I said, I am down to overshare, and hey, maybe I am making an unwise, idealistic sacrifice of future employability in the name of some stupid misguided ideal. But hey. Never been very good at pragmatism. Maybe I’ll learn, change my ways, and delete this blog one day.


Now you can talk.

But I’m not listening. Gonna go ‘overshare’ some more. (*Leaves*)



Coming out as ‘Crazy’: A Mental Illness Series, Pt1: The Introduction.

I am going to begin a series of posts about my experiences with ‘mental illness’.

I thought I would clarify some things first.

1)   What do you mean by ‘mental illness’?

Last summer, a truck that should have taken my life ended the existential/spiritual crisis that had prolonged my misery for years. It was a lengthy, complicated process of coming to a new awareness about the deepest origins of my problems, and thereby, modern human discontent in general, which I will describe at length in a future post. (huh?) Anyway, I no longer subscribe to the medical model of mental illness.

The medical model basically advocates the following: the many varied forms of human mental and emotional distress/psychological abnormality are primarily biological and genetic in origin, although external environmental factors have an important effect. Human wellbeing depends on the right amount of neurotransmitters (serotonin/dopamine/etc.), which are those little chemicals in our brains that control things like mood, arousal, appetite, etc. It also depends on normal processes of perception and sensation in the brain, which go beyond neurotransmitters. Psychiatry mechanically alters those chemicals through the application of pharmaceutical drugs that are supposed to restore crazy to mental ‘health’ and ‘normality’, and psychotherapy is basically supposed to retrain the brain to function correctly. The medical model says, in a nutshell, that we are ‘broken’ and can and should be ‘fixed’.

Today, I am both highly critical of and extremely educated about the perils of such a POV. But I will wait until the end of the series to wrap it all up and explain how I came to reject this model. Most of my account will show who Coral was before she came to this realization. You will see me fighting, struggling under the crushing weight of an established, authoritative paradigm that is forced on everyone who gets labeled with a psychiatric diagnosis from the DSM. (Please keep in mind that I am in a far, far better place today. 😀 So, throughout the series, don’t freak out/get scared or worried. I’m doing just fine these days.)

For now, I am going to bring you, reader, backwards into my journey, into the places I traveled through alone, before I had any idea that there were other ways of conceptualizing my experience.

2) Why are you doing this? Isn’t this a bit much, Coral?

Above all, I am doing it for me. Brutal, self-revealing honesty has become therapy for me in the past few months. I spent most of my young life experiencing things that made me ashamed of who I was. I used to hate myself, to the core of my being. Yes, I really did just admit that. (I will admit a lot of things that will probably make you feel awkward while interacting with me since you aren’t used to people being so openly vulnerable.) On top of that, we live in a society in which, due to the enforced normalization of human experience wrought on us due to thousands of years of control based/fear based civilization (i’ve got a lot of theories, lol), there is a very real stigma on those of us who deviate from ‘normality’, a heavy burden on those of us who suffer inside and cannot be productive or lighthearted or social as a result. However, as I got older and became more aware of others, I realized that I was far from the only one and that as a rule we tend to try to hide our struggles and put our best face forward, we try to be ‘strong’, we try to ‘fit in’ and be normal, we don’t often talk about the deepest, darkest things unless it is with people we are close to who we know will not judge or condemn us for these things. I began to realize that my experience, although intense, was FAR from unique. The more I began to open up to people, the more I realized that not only are we are facing an epidemic, of seismic proportions, that many of us are unwilling to discuss publicly; we are also quite simply facing the natural dark side of human existence, which often gets labeled as ‘bad’ or ‘sick’. My intuition and perceptiveness grew sharp and I got good at seeing past the quiet lives of desperation some of us lead, seeing past the surface of conventional social behavior to realize that so many of us are struggling and feeling so alone. So, out of newly learned radical self-love and an increasing awareness of the desperate need for individuals to be upfront and vocal about mental illness, I decided to come out as ‘crazy’ (a term I am clearly critical of). I’m doing this for me, to give a great big fuck you to all of the years I spent in hiding. A great big fuck you to all of the paradigms and hospitalizations, all of the harsh judgment, all of the informal and subtle invalidation, silencing and shaming from others, all of the pills I forced down my throat, all of the lies I believed when I thought that there was something deeply wrong with me for going through what I did. There wasn’t. I am taking my power back.

However…I am also doing this for you. Because I love you, too, in a way that doesn’t require me to know you.  This is for you. This is  also to help you understand and support your best friend with depression, your sister with anorexia, your mother with bipolar disorder, your girlfriend with debilitating anxiety, your twelve year old cousin who cuts but the family won’t acknowledge it. Struggling from a young age has equipped me with the strength and the courage to openly talk about my mental illness experience and I am taking the opportunity to use the Internet and social media to reach out to you, dear reader. I want you to know the gritty details of my own experience. Now that I absolutely detest stigma and the things it forces us to do to ourselves, I want to scream about what I went through at the top of my fucking lungs because there are things inside me that deserved to be voiced then and deserve to be voiced now. I choose to open up and bare my soul because there is a part of me that thinks that this is such a powerful, beautiful, revolutionary thing to do for others. Even if you never got a diagnosis, you might find that you can relate somehow. I want to reach out to the deepest, darkest and most human things in you. I want you to know that there are so many others, that I’m here, too. You are not alone. And you don’t have to hide. You don’t have to tell the world, either, but by God, you do not have to hide or be ashamed of dealing with mental illness in any form. The pressure to hide is real but I am bursting with the need to speak as authentically and genuinely as possible about the things I have experienced. Maybe it’s a bit exhibitionist, maybe I’m misguided, and maybe this is too ‘intense’. But FUCK that, I do not care anymore. Besides, since I started using social media in a personal, ‘intense’ way, I’ve gotten so many unexpected, heartfelt messages from people, many of whom I did not really know, the kind that make me feel like I am not alone and that beneath the thick veneer of normalcy that pervades our everyday life, there are hearts beating just as offbeat as mine, souls falling apart and putting themselves back together again just like mine. That is the kind of connection I am looking for. (Never been good at small talk.) I want you to know who I am and where I’ve been so that I don’t have to hide anymore. And I want to know who you are, too.

I spent years shut up within myself and now, I want to make noise. I want to start conversations, if only in my limited circle of friends.

And? I’m off.  No turning back. Some of you might be thinking, Coral, why? There is no need to do this, just heal within your self; you don’t owe anyone any explanations. I know very well that I don’t. But I also know that for me at least, healing cannot happen in a vacuum, that I must share my story of struggle, of hope, loss and redemption, to really, truly heal, I must reach outside of myself to others. I can’t really explain why. Not sure if I even fully know why. I just have to. It’s coming from this strong inner drive. Hopefully my efforts benefit someone, anyone out there.

Ok, so: the first post in the series will be entitled: What it was like to experience severe depression at Wesleyan University while trying to hide it from everyone. It will be posted when it’s ready.

(Warning: I will be blunt and honest and sometimes graphic. I know that some things are emotional triggers for some people, so if I am including anything of the sort, I will add a disclaimer at the beginning of the post. Also, feel free to contact me to talk about anything, and feel free to share my shit out there in the webosphere/among your loved ones and homies.)



“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”  

Why I Dropped Out of College

1)   I’m an idiot.

I am fucking stupid.  Everyone knows that graduating from college is very likely to make my life easier in the future. Isn’t that the point of life? After all, we live in America, under a system called capitalism, in which a college degree demonstrates evidence of the qualities required to succeed in the modern workforce as a productive, responsible citizen. We all know about those studies that show that on average, college graduates make like a million dollars more in their lifetime. Why would anyone want to give that up? Besides, Wesleyan wasn’t just any school. Wesleyan was one of those schools: on those lists, with a big endowment and research grants and professors who write books and loads of very important alumni who are doing very important things.  One of those schools, you know the kind, where you get far more than a piece of paper. You can also gain access (if you didn’t have it already, which you probably did) to elite socioeconomic status; exposure to the primarily upper middle class/rich kids who populate the upper echelon of American society, with all their inherited cultural know how and privilege. Bourdieu tried his best to tell me that that’s valuable, that through some kind of crazy magic, it morphs into economic opportunity as we enter the workforce. But it just didn’t sink in. (Until now, that is. Damn.) Anyway, now I’m entering adulthood without that. My individual life is probably going to be more difficult because it will be harder to gain access to the jobs and careers that could make me the most money. I really should have thought harder before I made such an idiotic, impractical decision. Why would anyone do such a thing? What the fuck was I thinking, putting in three and a half years just to let that Wesleyan degree slip through my fingers, especially being a black girl from the projects with absolutely nothing else going for me besides some music that only my friends listen to? Fuck!

2)   I’m a genius.

Just kidding. Put your eyeballs back to where they were before you started to roll them. I don’t know if I’m a genius or even what a ‘genius’ is, but that’s beside the point. I just have a pesky little habit of thinking very original thoughts (that’s no walk in the park though,  & I’ve got several psychiatric diagnoses to prove it. More on those in the future. Oh man it’s gonna be so awesome to be real as fuck with this blog, such a great release of fear of what you think of me, dear reader 🙂 ) I also have a habit of vocalizing them, which often unfortunately leads to a feeling of abject isolation and a deep sense of frustration in the normal classroom setting/in general. To give an example: One day, this past semester, in the Sociology of Education (s/o to Professor Long!), we were asked to write one paragraph about what we thought was the biggest factor causing the achievement gap in the United States. I was probably a little bit stoned, and feeling philosophical. Here was my answer: “I think the most important factor for narrowing the ‘achievement gap’ is reconceptualizing what we mean by achievement. The standard for how we define this socially often (but not always) relates to performance on tests which demonstrate that students know how to obey authority and learn due to social pressure and fear, rather than true interest and a flowering of their natural abilities. The way we measure achievement forces students into a similar mode of being and the ones that cannot conform fall through the cracks. I guess I didn’t exactly answer the question, so here is another more pragmatic answer: socioeconomic and racial disparity clearly increases the gap and concentrates a lack of educational resources in those neighborhoods that need them and have always needed them the most. Narrowing the gap could involve a concerted federal effort to bring those schools up to date in the most basic ways (student teach ratio, up to date/enough textbooks) so students in them can compete on a more level playing field.”

Professor Long got excited and basically announced my answer in class, to my dismay (I’m still a bit shy). I perked up, secretly hoping someone would bite, but no one else had anything to add, the rest of the class went on as usual, and we stayed safely within the bounds of the race/class answer. I zoned out and left as soon as the clock hit 10:20.  Later, he told me that no one else thought of that and I was surprised. This is just one example of me getting bored in class because of my wild, divergent style of thinking. I always felt like I was coming out of left field. I wanted to make quantum leaps and undermine the questions and untie the assumptions behind them, like delicious little knots beneath my fingertips. But we had to go step by linear step, stick to whatever the current author was saying, and say things that the professor wanted to hear in order to get that participation grade. I wanted to learn and discuss passionately, to express emotional reactions to the material (in class? what the fuck Coral?) and talk about my theories and convictions and relate personal experiences with schooling, as I find them to be a most excellent source of knowledge. (Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m not the only one.) I wanted to transcend the separation of academic disciplines and go skipping through the humanities, all within one comment (it’s connected I swear! Let me rephrase. Uh….Cue social anxiety never mind…lost my thought…..*shuts down*)

I just….I dunno. I just wanted to engage. Deeply and honestly, with shit like vulnerability and, god forbid, self-disclosure. I didn’t give a FUCK about my grades and thats why they were always subpar. I wanted to look critically at the exponentially accelerating disaster of modernity that my generation must somehow deal with, stare it in the eye and acknowledge all the fucked-upness that seemed so transparent. I wanted that from the people around me, and I wanted it badly. But, when we read Dewey, we discussed Dewey. Not ourselves, not life, not the role of our own presence in academia and it’s reinforcement of inequality and the significance of it all in the bigger picture. But more often than not, Dewey was Dewey, and that was that. (I hope this doesn’t sound arrogant…..I’m not looking down on anyone, promise. Just expressing myself. But its my blog so I’ma keep it 100 and judge if ye so wish, I’ve been through worse.)

3)   I’m unstable.

I’ve always been rather ‘mercurial’, if you will. (Fancy word for a ‘lil bit cray-cray’.) I experience a wide and drastic range of emotions every single day, and this makes the relentless schedule of class for hours, homework for hours, appear socially competent and happy the whole time, aaaaaand repeat, very, very difficult. (Or not. Maybe it’s just my ‘immaturity’, we’ve all got to do things we don’t want to do and we damn well better get used to it! Maybe I’m just a lazy, irresponsible fucking asshole who just can’t get with the program. People are slaving sixteen hours a day in coal mines and I can’t get my ungrateful ass to an air-conditioned building 50 feet away? Damn shame.) Nonetheless, I do not do well in imposed routine. I missed a lot of class and missed a lot of deadlines. I have to know why I am doing something, what it’s for, and how my soul /the world will benefit and grow from it. I’m fucking weird like that. If I don’t get the answers to my whys or cannot choose for myself, I start to die inside. (She’s super over dramatic too, ugh, get OVER yourself Coral.) Extrinsic motivation does nothing for me. I’m one of those kids that teachers really, really liked but regrettably had to mark as ‘inconsistent’ or ‘absent-minded’ a lot. I wasn’t absent….I was in my head, flying away to places they had no idea about…but anyway, I couldn’t do it. The stress of finals ravaged me every single time. The miserable all-nighters, the illegally purchased Ritalin and Adderall that turned me into the kind of person that could succeed at Wesleyan. Due to amphetamine use, rampant at Wes, I couldn’t eat much, and I dropped ten pounds every single time. (And we all know I don’t have many to spare.) No energy, no capacity for joy. Focus, Coral focus, just do it Coral, put your whirlwind thoughts into this nice formulaic essay, just ten, just fifteen more pages. Mood swinging even more than usual. Nightmares. You have to do this Coral or you’ll be poor forever and have nothing. Think about Mommy, Coral, you want to get her a house one day, think about everyone else. Don’t let them down. You aren’t like these rich kids Coral do not fuck this up. Get that A on the final, get that GPA up. 98 pounds went to 95. 93. Vision blurring when I stood up. Smoking too much weed just to get by. My body started protesting. “Coral, what the fuck are you doing? You don’t even care about this! This is some arbitrary shit that you are forcing yourself to do in order to get a job you probably wont even like! I don’t care what Prep for Prep and Taft and Wesleyan and everyone around you expects from you, I care about what I need! Me me me!” My body is a dick. Especially during finals. By November of 2013, I couldn’t do it anymore. Had to put my physical and emotional health first for once.

4)   I’m an artist.

I cannot live without making music, I have this need to constantly create, or else I implode. I have to do it, or I lose an already tentative grasp on sanity (whatever that means). After I dropped my first EP in October and proved to myself that I really did have potential and talent, I realized that music was my purpose, not academia.  (Insert shameless self promotion here: https://soundcloud.com/fxwrk Free download yay!) I don’t need a degree to do what I want to do. I was so overwhelmed with work that I could not make much music while at school, and it was killing my spirit. Who knows, I love sociology and might go back one day and finish up my degree. But right now, I am driven by this unshakeable inner conviction that is directing me onto an artistic path. Here I go y’all. Even if I don’t succeed in music, I am so excited to devote my time to activism, in whatever form that takes. That is where my heart is, working for social change is what will wake my ass up in the morning in a way that no A ever could. Even if I really have ruined my chances at financial prosperity, nothing could be more fulfilling to me, personally, than fighting for a cause that is bigger than me and my personal comfort. Not everyone takes that path, and no it is not for everyone, but it is mine, and I am finally embracing it as acceptable because I say so. My momma will get that house…I’m just going about it differently 🙂 And if not, she’ll at least have a much happier daughter.

5)   Miscellaneous

The job market is changing. I’ve realized that even with a degree, you are not guaranteed the job you want or a job at all. This is a time of rapid fluctuation, in every single way. It appears that humanity is on the brink of major social upheaval, even though the most dramatic of it hasn’t hit home for many Americans yet. A lot of my senior friends are as unsure as I am, and they’ll be getting their degrees in May. I wish you guys the best and I’m so happy for you. (I’m turning up for Senior Week best believe.) I hope we all rock it out in the future. We’re all kind of scared and worried, but…uncertainty is a guarantee, no matter what we try to do to avoid this simple fact of life. Instead of staying somewhere that was stifling me, I chose to embrace uncertainty, fall into ‘the flow’, attempt to live spiritually in a secular world, and see where it takes me. I hope we all end up exactly where our hearts tell us to. I have faith in us, with degrees and without them.