S
aturday, Sept. 4 marked a monumental
moment in Ann Arbor. For the first time
in nearly two years, Michigan Stadium
welcomed in students at full capacity for the
first game of the Wolverines’ 2021 season.
And though this wasn’t a homecoming
game, the event centered largely on the idea
of coming — or, more accurately, returning
— home. A tumultuous virtual year left
students scattered across the world in their
childhood bedrooms. Tens of thousands of
them reuniting in one cherished location
at the same time was cause for celebration,
even if dampened by lingering COVID-19
concerns.
Returning as a recent graduate, however,
added another layer of hesitation for me. It
was, of course, incredible to be back in the
Big House. It was like returning to my family
home after my first semester of college and
finding my bedroom intact. After feeling
alienated from everything for a year, it
reminded me how secure and certain I had
felt in my place at the University of Michigan.
But, like returning to a childhood bedroom,
the experience was bittersweet. Everything
may look the same, but some part of you
knows this is not truly your home anymore,
at least not in the same way it was before. It
will naturally be taken over by others and
used for something new.
Given the circumstances of the past
year, however, the return was not merely
bittersweet, but in some ways painful.
Nostalgia for my college experience prior
to the pandemic was partially replaced by
heartbreak for the experiences I had lost to
the pandemic. Game day in Ann Arbor was
a reminder of everything that never was due
to the pandemic; acquaintances that never
became friends and memories that were
never made.
Wrapped up in all of those conflicting
feelings, game day above all reaffirmed to
me that there is something about being in
Ann Arbor — about being a U-M student —
that can’t be replicated anywhere else. Being
back at the Big House was the first time in a
long time that I’d felt like a part of something
bigger than myself. And it wasn’t just being
in a crowd of 109,000 people. It was blending
into a sea of maize and blue and chanting the
same chants I had two years ago as if nothing
had changed. It was almost a blessing of
anonymity; in the crowd, I couldn’t be
singled out as a recent graduate or a job-
seeker or a young adult in the transition
from college to the real world. I could just be
a Michigan Wolverine for a moment. And in
that moment, I wanted to just be a Michigan
Wolverine forever.
I’m certain I’m not alone in this feeling.
Between 2008 and 2018, more than 96%
of freshmen completed their first year
successfully and returned to the University
the following year. This makes Michigan tied
for the 11th highest first-year retention rate
nationally, which is well above the average of
91.3% for all public schools in the Association
of American Universities. Similarly, the
University’s yield — the number of students
enrolling compared to the number admitted
— increased over 5% between 2014 and 2019.
Clearly, there’s something about Michigan
that motivates people to come here and stay
here, more so than many other schools.
H
owever, the desire to make the
Michigan experience last forever
conflicts
with
the
constant
pressure to get it done as quickly as possible.
Eighty percent of the University’s 2012
first-year cohort graduated within four
years, almost 20% greater than the average
four-year graduation rate of AAU public
universities. This is often touted as a good
thing, and in many ways, it is. College is
expensive and getting it done faster can
save you a significant amount of money. And
some students may desire an efficient college
experience for social or personal reasons.
But financial and social pressures to
finish as quickly as possible and get to the
next step can detract from the experience
of the four — or five or six — years spent on
campus. It seems antithetical to how hard
many of us worked and how excited many
of us were to get here only to treat it as a
stepping stone to what’s meant to come next.
Perhaps this is becoming more noticeable
due to the prominence of hustle culture
among Gen Z at large; the desire to not only
climb the career ladder but to exploit every
possible ounce of our productive capability
begins with our first steps on campus. But
I think this culture goes back far beyond
Gen Z. It’s somewhat unique to Michigan,
an
internalization
of
“the
Michigan
Difference” and “Leaders and the Best” and
every other expectation foisted upon us by
our attendance of this prestigious university
— prestige we are frequently reminded of.
One especially oppressive part of this
culture is the expectation that you should
have everything figured out, a culture
perpetuated
by
everyone
around
you
seemingly having everything figured out. As
early as August, LinkedIn connections are
“thrilled to share” their internship plans for
next summer or, even more daunting to those
of us who feel behind, their return offers
upon graduation. As a junior transfer, the
gravity and immediacy of finding a junior
year internship were impressed upon me
before I even attended a class at Michigan.
As difficult as these pressures can be, they
do seem to be at least a common malaise, and
in light of the pandemic, some students at
Michigan are questioning the overemphasis
on the junior year internship altogether. As
much as it seems everyone else seems to
have the future figured out, there are also
reassurances that most people don’t and
that everything will work out eventually.
But getting to the end of my degree and
feeling like everything expected of me hasn’t
materialized can be a very lonely experience.
Upon
commencement,
I
lost
the
camaraderie of collective struggle. I lost
access to the social groups that carried
me through college. In the days following
graduation, I was removed from several
group chats and listservs that had brought
me together with others before the pandemic
and kept me sane during it. Though I had
been anticipating this separation, it still
felt sudden. A few months later, as others
celebrated a triumphant return to campus on
the first day of classes, I spent that day in the
same way I had spent the past year: working
alone in my room. As much as I was thrilled
for others to get back to campus, every joyful
Instagram post and Snapchat story I saw
made me long for a chance to return, to be
invited back to the party.
G
raduation was also the moment that
“real world” expectations came on
in full force. I can no longer just say
“I’m a student” when asked what I do. I had
felt the pressure of knowing my future before
graduation, but it became so much more
visceral after losing the buffer of being in
college. Whether it’s a doctor’s appointment
or dinner with relatives, the question of
“what’s next?” is asked less out of curiosity
and more out of urgency. I’m no longer
afforded understanding for my uncertainty;
I’m
presumed
lost
and
directionless.
Perhaps this is tied to the pressure to always
think way ahead and to know exactly what’s
coming next. After years of this culture,
being uncertain after graduation and not
quite sure of the next step is indicative of
personal shortcomings and maybe even
unworthiness of the Michigan pedigree.
The
most
interesting
part
of
this
internalized guilt is that I don’t believe
my present state is the result of failure,
but actually of choice. Truthfully: I need a
minute. Maybe I’m just not ready to move
on. I need a minute to linger in the space
that was once mine before it becomes
something else, just as my room at home
was quickly converted into storage space.
I need something between a victory lap
and goodbye tour, or just a chance to finish
writing this chapter in a way I’m at least
somewhat satisfied with rather than having
the page forcefully turned over. As much
as I feel strange and even a bit unwelcome
sticking around, I do believe there is value in
lingering.
According
to
the
University
of
Washington, it takes the average college
graduate three to six months to find a job
after graduation. As much as Michigan has
constantly reinforced the importance of
being different, of leading and being the best,
I’m trying to be okay with being “average” in
some measures, including this one.
As difficult as it can be following several
years of an incessantly forward-looking
culture, we need to allow ourselves and
others space to linger and feel uncertain
after graduation. Despite how the social
environment at Michigan makes us feel,
it’s normal to need time and to not have
everything figured out even after you’ve
received your diploma. This is especially true
for the class of 2021: as much as you may feel
urged to move on as if things were normal,
what happened to our college experience
frankly sucks. It’s more than okay if you
need some extra time to wrap things up.
I have some ideas for what the next phase
is, but for the moment, I’m not finished here.
I’m going to linger in between Michigan and
whatever’s next for right now. And besides,
there’s always grad school.
Wednesday, September 15, 2021 // The Statement — 4
BY MARY ROLFES, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
Lingering in between