Graduation from college, for me, was not a monumental event or even a momentous occasion — sure, it was the culmination of 5 years of hard work, the completion of two degrees, the compulsory entrance into the so-called ‘real world’ — but really, it was just another project, just another final exam that began at 7pm and ended at 10pm.

When I left the building upon completion of the exam and walked across the dark, deserted campus for the very last time as a student, I did not yet feel like a graduate. Nor did I feel any more like an adult than I did at 6,570 days old instead of just 6,569. Perhaps this is why so many college students choose to walk across the stage for their graduation — it was a physical passage marking the end an intellectual pursuit that existed only on paper and in their head. But no, not me, I preferred this walk, by myself, under the harsh, yellow glow of the street lamps in West Campus, alone with my thoughts as I reached the familiar, dilapidated white house with faded blue trim.

My key unlocked the door, but I no longer lived there. My furniture, my clothes, my artwork, my photo albums, my life as I knew it, were all packed and on its way to my new home in New York City. All that was left of my former life in Austin, Texas was a pair of suitcases, a duffel bag, and me.

At 10am the next morning, exactly 12 hours after I had dropped my pencil and turned in my blue book for the very last time, I was on a plane. I did not feel any exhilaration as the turbine engines spooled up to take me on to my new life — rather, I began to feel an increasing sense of urgency, as if I was late for a very important date with my post-college self, new and improved, complete with a fabulous apartment in Manhattan, steady salary included. Batteries? Not so much. I was exhausted when I arrived at my new dwelling for the first time — it was daunting to face a room unseen, a roommate unmet.

I was surprised when my key unlocked this unfamiliar door; I was startled to see all of my belongings waiting patiently for me. It was if I had walked out of one stage of my life and straight into another. But unlike hundreds of thousands of other college graduates who had chosen to walk across the real, tangible stage, I did not receive my diploma en route. Instead of attending to useful things, like unpacking, I spent a good deal of time on the internet, compulsively checking to see if my final grades had been posted, obsessing that this might be the first time in my life where I did not make the passing grade, that I would be forced to return to college with my tail and my ego tucked in between my legs, that I would not get to keep the aforementioned apartment, that I would not start my first real job, that I would not pass go.

Even after I saw I had passed with flying colors, I did not yet feel at ease. Fortunately, my best friend Meredith arrived on the scene, and proceeded to turn my literal home into a figurative home, complete with curtains, an area rug, and two houseplants that I named Steven and Spike. After this whirlwind weekend, I spent Sunday evening quietly contemplating the genuine arrival of my future and wondering if I should set out a welcome mat.