The young graduate experiences a shift in his or her immediate relationships. In some ways, this is of course expected. Apartments are rented, roommates selected or avoided, housemates are coordinated, and parents are once again solicited for support (typically with the assurance of brevity under their roof). Friends disperse and move away, or the graduate him or herself moves away, setting up in a new city. And of course, boyfriends and girlfriends are broken up with, face increased phone bills, buy webcams, move in together, or get separate places, and in general learn to see and hear less or more of each other, as the many various cases may be.
Yet beyond the sheer logistics of finding new jobs and housing and cell phone plans—and beyond the immediate heartbreak of partings—a subtle change begins to affect how the recent graduate relates to others. There is a lesser-marked sea change, which I have encountered in my experience. It seems to me that it has something to do with shifts in schedules, priorities, and much to do with the loss of a contained campus. No matter how busy the student’s life may be, I would argue that this is a shared life: to some degree, it obeys the same clock, calendar, and geography. The beauty of the campus is that it provides a bounded space and culture: no matter what your own path may take, friends are all around, all the time, in every day and class and exam and dorm and dining hall.
The graduate, however, experiences an individuating phenomenon.
For me, I stayed in Palo Alto. I said goodbye to most, though hardly all, of my Stanford acquaintance, and I moved in with my boyfriend in a small, one bedroom apartment, a matter of a biking distance from the University. My boyfriend, you see, is still a graduate student.
I was ecstatic about this change, and I still am. Stephen is by far the best roommate I’ve ever had. He’s quiet and I’m comfortable with quiet; he deals with my hysterical bouts better than any friend of mine I’ve ever known (largely, I suspect, due to the fact that girls tend to feed off of other girls’ hysteria—but I digress). Despite some difference of opinion regarding the correct frequency for doing dishes, we work well together. And, lest I fail to mention, it is possibly the most wonderful and satisfying feeling in the world to get to share your life with someone you love.
So we moved in, and I reorganized my bookshelf, and I started a new job. And before long, I felt isolated. Despite the fact that I had a boyfriend turned roommate, many friends nearby in apartments, and friends still on campus, life was suddenly much, much lonelier. I achingly wished I could simply stroll down the hall and flop on Alyssa’s beanbag as often as I wanted. I missed being able to count that I’d sit by Killeen in Chaucer and naturally could have lunch with her afterwards. Now, I had to call my friends. I had to set things up.
Setting things up seems very, very simple. It’s remarkable how big of a deterrent it can be to people of my age level. In my life as a recent graduate, I’ve become aware that to a greater or lesser degree, every time I want to see a friend, I have to organize and make it happen. And accordingly, it has become very clear to me which of my friends are actually capable of doing this and willing and able to put in the effort (as little as the occasion may require!), and which are simply not. Some friends are good at this. Some are utterly miserable. None are perfect.
Some embrace social planning whole-heartedly. I would include myself in this group. We’re all about our Gcals, we respond promptly to emails, when we receive a suggestion or an invitation, we don’t just say “Sure!” we say “When?” and “Where?” Others, I believe, have a sort of carryover mentality from when they were students. They are vague on details, not great on follow-through. If in fact they have calendars, it is not at all apparent that they use them. And of course there are all sorts of gradations between the two extremes.
I began to realize that I was going to have to relate to different friends by different sets of rules, according to each of their capabilities. My friend Becca is a professional tutor, and she works until 9 each night. With my work schedule, I go to bed at 9:30. There’s pretty much one evening a week I might be able to see Becca, if I can catch her. My friend Killeen is chronically late, to pretty much everything, completely democratic of level of importance. I try not to see movies with Killeen, or go to restaurants where we need reservations. My friend Lucy is challenging with with complex logistics. I avoid doing things with Lucy that would require advance planning, the purchasing of tickets, or the coordination of a group of people. I’m bemused by friends who only respond to certain forms of communication, in favor of any others. Lessons learned: Paco is wishy washy on email, but lovely on the phone. Silas and my brother Jason will ignore any and all Facebook communications. My friend Kay only responds to text messages. Literally. This is a pretty tough one for me. I’m not a huge texter, and would much rather email/chat/call. Sometimes I email Kay and then I send her a text message to tell her to check her email. It’s not very effective. I don’t see Kay very much.
The worst are the friends who are grad students or doing academic research, and really just don’t get it (the “it” being the you-have-to-actually-exert-yourself-if-you-care-about-seeing-me). Their lives haven’t changed. They still stay up until 2 or 3 am every night, they automatically have people in their labs and classes who are doing the same things that they do and interested in the same things that they are. I’m sure they love to hear from their former undergrad friends, but they don’t need to relate to people the way working graduates are motivated to reach out to their friends. I recently had it out with my friend Margaux, doctoral candidate in cancer cell biology at UC Berkeley, and, hardly a week later, my friend Kate, future doctor of veterinary medicine at UC Davis. Margaux, admittedly, has always been tricky to pin down. Kate simply seems extraordinarily overwhelmed these days. Regardless, events culminated in my feeling hurt and frustrated, largely due to my impression that neither of them were putting in any effort towards our friendships. Many conversations later, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are still wondering at what exactly I was being so uptight about.
It’s an adjustment, for sure, and a lesson in loving your friends for who they are, and not accusing them for what they’re not. And after a lot of moping and finger pointing—and more drama than I’d care to ever partake in again—I think I’m ready to develop a personal resolution. I’ve spent far more time being lonely and resentful of my friends than anyone ought. Better to let it go, and actually try to be a better friend to the people I love. If my friends have felt anything like I’ve felt in the past year, well, they could certainly use a good friend about now.
Interconnectedness is the assumption of the college student, and adulthood can be staggeringly lonely at times, even under the best of circumstances. Yet, there’s also something wonderful in venturing into the unbounded territories beyond the campus. We have the opportunity to reinvent and redefine ourselves, and part of that is the person we want to be and the role we want to take on in our myriad relationships. I, for one, hope to have many friendships and relationships throughout my adult life, and I intend to keep working at them.
