After Life

41

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, pencils down," a stern, clear voice called from the front of the lecture hall.

You could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as the end finally came. Both of the exam in front of us, and for the majority, our university careers. We had just taken our last final, a three hour long essay form on the history and impact of art and media, that had left my brain aching and my hand cramping.

No one stood as the invigilators collected the booklets and test papers, most people leaning back in their chairs, stretching their arms over their heads, or bending their sore hands backwards against the claw shaped deformities that they had become over the last few hours. A few students cast glances to their neighbors, but no one dared discuss the exam until all papers had been collected. It was a ritual ingrained in you early on in college. Don't even move until the exam has been removed from your table, incase you are accused of cheating. After freshman year and spikes of anxiety every time you needed to scratch your nose during a test for fear they may think you have the answers written on your pinky nail, you learned to just sit tight until you are dismissed.

Finally, all papers had been collected, all booklets filed into the professors file box for review and grading.

We were officially free.

Slowly, since most of us were hunched over and stiff from sitting so long, we filed out of the lecture hall. Once out of the building, onto the familiar streets of New York, it hit me.

Its over. The last three years of my life brought me to this moment, where I could say I had officially finished college. All the studying, all the late nights, all the endless hours in front of photo shop and in studios and searching for inspiration were over. At least in terms of my post secondary education.

Taking a deep breath, I couldn't stop the smile from coming to my face. I giggled at the relief that washed over me, sitting on a nearby bench for a few moments reflection.

It was all finished. It was a strange feeling, if I was being honest. Part of me was excited, eager to move on to the next stage of my life. Ever since I was a child, I knew what I wanted to be. This program gave me the education and credentials to pursue that goal. I earned that. But another part of me was terrified, because now I really did have to go out there, into the real world, and become an adult.

I was now an adult, in all intents and purposes. But how exactly does one act like an adult? What made you finally feel like you were that person, that someone would classify as 'adult'? I still found myself at times walking around the city, for whatever reason, looking for an adult. Someone who would know the answer to the question in my head, or where to go. Then it would hit me that I was classified as an adult myself, and this would cause me a moments panic. I would look around for someone else, someone 'more adult' than myself. Someone better at 'adulting' than myself. It was a vicious cycle adolescents faced...in a hurry to grow up, but afraid when you got there.

It was now Friday, and all my exams were completed. Tuesday was graduation, and my parents were scheduled to come in to the city that day for the event. After graduation, I would be attending the opening of the exhibition, and seeing which of my images had been selected by the panel for display. Professor Murray gave us our final project grades, but the images displayed were chosen by a panel of our faculty. A collective grouping of professors who had guided us and taught us through our time at NYU, would be seeing the results of their impact on our lives and our skills.

I was hands down more nervous about that one exhibition than any of the exams I had taken in the last three years.

Because the results of their choices, in turn impacted my own in terms of career options. Usually, students got three images from their final projects in the exhibit, up to a maximum of six. Only two students in NYU history ever got six in the exhibit. Both of which have worked for the likes of National Geographic, Vogue, and Harpers Bazaar. Needless to say, the reality was I would be happy with the three. I was proud and confident with my final project, but I wasn't going to get my hopes up to unrealistic or delusional expectations. I was a firm believer in expect less, and you wont be disappointed. But you will be pleased with anything more than what you thought.