Does it get easier?

It's been quite a while since I last wrote anything, and usually that means that there is something that I don't want to write down, because I am scared to face it.

There is definitely something I don't want to face, but reading Yann Martel's new novel "Beatrice and Virgil" tonight reminded me that I can't run from my fears forever. The main character in his novel is struggling to cope with the disappointment of having his latest novel torn to shreds and so, to save himself from the pain he vows to turn away from writing.

Of course, this vow is only made on a superficial level because let's face it - even if he isn't using a pen - a writer never stops writing.

Like Henry, I also admit that I never stop writing. I constantly have my hand on a metaphorical pen (or keyboard) which I use to furiously record each day's course of events. Lately, these days have been long, slow, drawn out and for the most part - not very exciting. However I remain determined to see the intricacies of daily life and record them for future use. I believe that all experience informs existence, even if that experience is reduced to the mundane bus ride.

My problem these days is that I am beginning to get that sense that all this pent of anxiety is about to spill over. Anxiety over what you might ask...well that is a very good question and one that the majority of my dear friends could probably answer, as they are all experiencing a similar set of throws.

Here I will give due credit to P.U.D. - that's internet talk for "post-university depression." I like apparently countless other recent graduates googled this term recently to learn that at least in cyber land, I am definitely not alone in my depressed sentiments.

It appears that P.U.D. is quite a common occurrence amongst recent graduates in the new millennium. As comforting as it is to find a community of like-minded depressed folks on the internet, one question continues to plague me is whether or not this is a new phenomenon.

As someone who regularly visits her old stomping grounds on campus to kick up some nostalgic dirt, I can see generally how anyone who spent the majority of the past four-five years of their lives in one place would feel slightly disjointed after leaving. After all, if your university experience was anything like mine was, you probably spent more time on campus than at home, and as a result got sucked into the "stockholm syndrome" effect where you now feel a sentimental longing for that place you once called hell. However, all nostalgic drama effects aside, there remains an incredibly unsettling feeling about no longer being defined as a "student."

For the majority of my 23 years on this planet, I was a student, and although I recently ventured into the world of "professional employment" I continue to see myself as a student. The problem here is the conflict that arises between how I view myself and how I am viewed by others in the larger context of the world. I am no longer granted the privlege of attending five classes a week, defining work as "reading books," drinking endless amounts of coffee to stay awake, and generally going about my life in an incredibly stressed demeanor all for the sake of knowledge.

In the real world, this "job description" does not fly. There are tasks to be completed and no time in between for philosophical queries. Work is work, and while I may have ideas that I think are brilliant or at least discussable, there is no one around who cares to discuss them.

What I am getting at here is that despite how stressful, busy, tiring and demanding school was it was satisfying. Satisfying in a very personal, yet also communal way. There were ideas to be discussed, and these discussions were generally thought of as meaningful contributions to society. In "the real world" the very idea of meaningful contributions is framed in an entirely different way - one that just doesn't mix with the model of university.

From the brief, yet varied research I have done on this topic, I have been promised that life will get better, that in the years to come I will move away from this yearning to go back to school, and further into the real world where groceries, bills, work, relationships, babies and mortages all begin to take precedent.

But what if I don't want to? What if I want to continue riding the bus, reciting observations to myself, storing them for my own philosophical deconstructions later?

Well then...I am on my own I guess. And I am lost. It's time to start riding a new bus, and I definitely don't know where this one is taking me. Maybe that's the point.