誰(shuí)的畢業(yè)不迷茫

畢業(yè)不僅意味著拿到學(xué)位時(shí)的歡欣鼓舞和告別校園生活時(shí)的感傷情懷，也意味著面對(duì)不確定的未來所感受到的巨大壓力與恐懼。“畢業(yè)之后你打算干什么？”周圍人總是期待你能對(duì)自己以后的人生有個(gè)清晰的規(guī)劃。然而，誰(shuí)的青春不困惑，誰(shuí)的畢業(yè)不迷茫？面對(duì)未知的世界，誰(shuí)又能在二十幾歲便想好未來的人生如何走呢？

College graduation is awful. The movies lie； the Hallmark cards1） deceive. It’s not that romantic tossing-of-caps moment. Instead， it’s the part in the movie where the protagonist2） looks down， touching his hand to his stomach only to find blood， thinking， “When did I get shot？” When did I get old？ Why do I have to leave now， right when I finally figured out how to properly annotate a bibliography？ Beyond the general sadness and nostalgia3） of exiting the only point in your life when yoga pants and crop tops4） are appropriate everyday attire5）， graduating from college is seriously， debilitatingly6） stressful. Most of this stress derives from one major symptom that manifests early and never goes away： questions. Where are you going next？ Why are you doing that？ Who are you doing it with？ Despite receiving them nonstop， I am never fully prepared to answer these questions. Sometimes they reveal truths that haunt me， like the moment I realized I didn’t know the purpose of my major.

That moment happens in the fall of my senior year， when I am on the phone with my sister， and I can tell my parents have been pressuring her to give me the and look how well I turned out！ speech. So she’s telling me all about the people who work in her office and how they all have different backgrounds and majors.

“... And anyways， there are plenty of English majors in the office ...”

“Lauren， I’m not an English major.”

Slight pause. “You’re not？”

“Are you joking？” I stare at my phone. “I’m a history major.”

Longer pause. “... Is there a difference？”

Later on， I would blame my quick hang-up on a malfunctioning satellite in outer space. What really happened was a frantic thumb against the “End Call” button， followed by an even more frantic Internet search of the difference between history and English majors. I found no answers on the topic， which did nothing in the way of reassuring me.

What’s your major？

In high school， I planned on a pre-med track in college. It was an easy answer with a steady plan， a paved road through college with a pre-packaged lifetime tied in a bow. But my brain is not wired7） to memorize the periodic table. I dropped that plan quickly.

In the first year of college， the admissions reps advise you to “Do What You Love.”

I love to write. I love sports. I’m an excellent public speaker. But these answers aren’t sufficient. You’re supposed to answer with a buzzword： finance， medicine， law.

The fall of my second year， I declared a major in history， then a second in foreign affairs， minoring in English as a war concession8） to myself. Science was tough， math impossible， but 40-page papers？ Bread and butter9）. I promised myself I would be the Taylor Swift10） of humanities， spewing out a new release of papers every two months， littered with pun-infested titles and sweeping rhetoric.

But the guilt hung thick like fog. Even now， in my senior year， with both majors completed and a diploma on the way， I’m no closer to an answer for what my education means or why it matters.

* * *

I’m in the car with my parents over spring vacation my senior year. We are driving to dinner， and I am counting in my head to see if I hit triple digits before my parents bring up The Future.

I get to 47 when mom turns around.

“So， sweetie， any thoughts about this summer？”

“I told you I’m going to apply to grad school.”

She smiles and squeezes my knee. “You know， Antonin Scalia took a year off before he went to Harvard Law.”

I smile back at my mom. 62， 63， 64 ... My parents are older than most. Both are in medicine， both having sustained a clear trajectory11） their whole lives. This yields two parents who have very little applicable advice about the job field in 2015. There are a lot of smiles， vague head nods， and me counting to the triple digits.

What do you want to do with your life？

I want to be my mother’s daughter. I want to stay this age so my parents can sustain those Supreme Court visions for me， and argue in favor of infinite possibility. I want to be sure of something. I want to feel like my education wasn’t a waste.

As each day looms12） closer to graduation， I entertain13） the thought of maxing out14） my credit card on a plane so I can write looping letters across the sky： I DON’T KNOW， AND DON’T ASK.

When you graduate from college， people demand answers of absolutes， of periods and colons. I can only speak in relativity， in brackets， parentheses， ellipses.

What they hear： I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t have a job yet. I am unsure.

What I am saying： I am unsure （for now）， I don’t have a job yet （nor does it scare me the way it scares you）， and I would be okay with all of this if it wasn’t for the look on your face right now.

* * *

One of my final college papers was about human trafficking15） in the United States. Millions of girls ripped from warm beds every year. I wonder what questions they get asked. One can learn everything about a person’s life through the type of questions they have to answer.

The questions people ask me， although posed with urgency that rings true， are lazy questions for a life that they expect will extend lazily into the future.

What are your plans after graduation？

I think about women my age across the world， living in war zones， without clean water， with husbands 40 years their senior. How would they answer？

What do you want to do with your life？

I think of the thousands of years of humanity that lie behind me， boys who went to war at 14， women who were beheaded for witchcraft16）. What they might think of that question？

“Well， today I’m going to try not to die. And if I manage that， I’ll try not to die tomorrow.”

This is a dramatic comparison， no doubt. But here are facts： The future I fear—of a cubicle plastered17） with curling pictures， of a lukewarm18） marriage that ends in a heated divorce—is a self-indulgent nightmare. It is the stomachache after a meal too luxurious to digest properly.

Maybe misery is relative， the questions abstract and the answers personalized， like the questions people ask me. But here is something that is absolute， questions concrete and answers visceral19）， like the questions that they don’t ask： Are you running out of water？ Are you healthy？ Are you afraid for your life？

When I am older， I hope I don’t look back and question why I didn’t fight for a higher base salary， or study harder for that entrance exam to graduate school.

But I do hope I remember this feeling I had when I was young. The all-encompassing20） fear I felt that I had no answers to the questions of my life， coupled with the certainty that these were the most important ones to be asking at all. I hope I think about how childish and selfish these fears were， especially in the moment after my lukewarm marriage falls apart， and then again 30 years later， when I peel faded pictures from my cubicle wall on the day of my retirement.

I hope I remember how long it took me to find out that these were the wrong questions to ask.

When my daughter is browsing through college pamphlets21） and losing her appetite over the amount of white on her resume， I will ask her， “Are you healthy？”

When my second husband pours a drink after a meeting with the accountant， after we learned that it’s worse than we thought， it’s going to be tighter than we thought， we are going to worry after we thought we would never worry again， I will ask him， “Are you going to live until tomorrow？”

And when I am 90 years old， I will hobble over to the 20-year-old girl who’s also waiting for a coffee， and I will smile at her and I will say， “Are you running out of water？”

大學(xué)畢業(yè)糟透了。電影都在撒謊；賀曼賀卡都是騙人的。畢業(yè)并不是浪漫的拋帽子時(shí)刻。相反，畢業(yè)是電影中的這一幕：主角低頭往下看，用手摸了摸腹部，結(jié)果發(fā)現(xiàn)流血了，心想，“我是什么時(shí)候中槍的？”我是什么時(shí)候變老的？為什么我現(xiàn)在剛剛才終于弄明白怎么恰當(dāng)?shù)亓袇⒖嘉墨I(xiàn)，卻不得不離開？大學(xué)是你人生中唯一一段適宜把瑜伽褲和露臍裝作為日常服裝的時(shí)期，告別這段時(shí)光不免讓人傷感與懷舊，但除此之外，大學(xué)畢業(yè)真的是令人感覺壓力山大，應(yīng)對(duì)乏力。這種壓力大多源于一種很早出現(xiàn)且永不消失的主要癥狀：?jiǎn)栴}。你接下來要做什么？為什么要做那個(gè)？和誰(shuí)一起做？盡管大家不停地問我這些問題，我卻從未完全準(zhǔn)備好如何回答。有時(shí)這些問題揭示出一些事實(shí)，讓我困擾不已，就像有一刻我忽然意識(shí)到自己不知道自己專業(yè)的目的何在。

那一刻發(fā)生在我大四時(shí)的秋天，當(dāng)時(shí)我正在和我姐姐打電話，我可以斷定父母向她施加了壓力，讓她對(duì)我講講“看我最后發(fā)展得多好”的故事。所以她告訴我都有哪些人在她的辦公室上班，他們都有怎樣不同的背景和專業(yè)。

“……不管怎樣，辦公室里有挺多學(xué)英語(yǔ)專業(yè)的……”

“勞倫，我讀的不是英語(yǔ)專業(yè)。”

短暫的停頓。“不是？”

“你不是在開玩笑吧？”我瞪著自己的手機(jī)說，“我讀的是歷史專業(yè)。”

更長(zhǎng)的停頓。“……這有區(qū)別嗎？”

過后，我會(huì)把電話匆匆掛斷歸咎于太空通信衛(wèi)星出故障了。但當(dāng)時(shí)的真實(shí)情況是我發(fā)瘋似的按下“結(jié)束通話”鍵，之后更加瘋狂地在互聯(lián)網(wǎng)上搜索歷史專業(yè)與英語(yǔ)專業(yè)之間的區(qū)別。我沒有找到關(guān)于這個(gè)話題的答案，無(wú)法從中找到任何安慰。

你讀什么專業(yè)？

上中學(xué)時(shí)，我曾計(jì)劃大學(xué)時(shí)讀醫(yī)學(xué)預(yù)科。這是個(gè)不用傷腦筋的答案，有著按部就班的計(jì)劃，是完成大學(xué)學(xué)業(yè)的一條坦途，可以提前把人生漂漂亮亮地打包安排好。但我的大腦天生就不適合記元素周期表。我很快就放棄了這個(gè)計(jì)劃。

在大學(xué)的第一年，招生顧問建議你“做你熱愛的事情”。

我熱愛寫作。我熱愛運(yùn)動(dòng)。我是位出色的演講者。但這些答案還不夠。你應(yīng)當(dāng)用一個(gè)時(shí)髦的詞作答：金融、醫(yī)學(xué)、法學(xué)。

大二那年秋天，我報(bào)了歷史專業(yè)，然后報(bào)了對(duì)外關(guān)系作為第二專業(yè)，并輔修英語(yǔ)，作為對(duì)自己的妥協(xié)。自然科學(xué)太難了，數(shù)學(xué)根本不可能學(xué)好，但是寫40頁(yè)的論文？那是立足之本。我向自己保證，我將成為人文學(xué)科的泰勒·斯威夫特，每?jī)蓚€(gè)月寫就一批新的論文，標(biāo)題里滿是雙關(guān)語(yǔ)，內(nèi)容全是高談闊論。

但是內(nèi)疚感如濃霧般久久不散。即便至今，我已經(jīng)大四，兩個(gè)專業(yè)的學(xué)業(yè)都已經(jīng)完成，即將拿到文憑，我卻仍然無(wú)法很好地回答我接受的教育意味著什么，或者為什么它很重要。

***

大四的春假，我和父母同車出行。我們驅(qū)車去吃飯，我在腦子里數(shù)數(shù)，想看看在我父母提起“未來”之前我能否數(shù)到三位數(shù)。

我數(shù)到47的時(shí)候，媽媽轉(zhuǎn)過頭來。

“呃，寶貝兒，你考慮過今年夏天做什么嗎？”

“我跟你說過，我要申請(qǐng)讀研。”

她微笑著，捏了捏我的膝蓋，說：“你知道吧，安東寧·斯卡利亞隔了一年才去上哈佛法學(xué)院。”

我也對(duì)著媽媽微笑。62、63、64……我父母的年紀(jì)比大多數(shù)家長(zhǎng)都大。他倆都從醫(yī)，兩個(gè)人這輩子的人生道路一直都很清晰。這導(dǎo)致兩位家長(zhǎng)都無(wú)法針對(duì)2015年的就業(yè)市場(chǎng)給出什么恰當(dāng)?shù)慕ㄗh。于是我們之間經(jīng)常時(shí)不時(shí)地微笑，含糊地點(diǎn)頭，還有就是我老算著什么時(shí)候數(shù)到三位數(shù)。

你對(duì)自己的人生有什么打算？

我想做母親的女兒。我想停留在這個(gè)年齡，這樣我父母就可以繼續(xù)設(shè)想我能到最高法院工作，認(rèn)為未來有無(wú)限的可能性。我希望能確定一些事情。我希望覺得自己所受的教育沒有白費(fèi)。

隨著畢業(yè)的日子一天天臨近，我有個(gè)想法，那就是刷爆信用卡弄架飛機(jī)，這樣我就能夠在天空中寫下一串大字：我不知道，不要問我。

當(dāng)你從大學(xué)畢業(yè)時(shí)，人們要求你給出確鑿的答案，帶句號(hào)和冒號(hào)的答案。而我能給出的回答都是相對(duì)的，要帶中括號(hào)、小括號(hào)、省略號(hào)。

他們聽到的是：我不知道我想做什么。我還沒有工作。我不確定。

我其實(shí)說的是：我（現(xiàn)在）不確定。我還沒有工作（但它并不會(huì)讓我像你們那樣感到害怕）。要不是因?yàn)楝F(xiàn)在你們臉上的表情，我其實(shí)覺得這也沒什么。

***

我大學(xué)畢業(yè)前的最后幾篇論文中，有一篇是關(guān)于美國(guó)的販賣人口問題。每年，有無(wú)數(shù)的女孩從溫暖的床上被掠走。我在想她們會(huì)被問到什么問題。通過一個(gè)人需要回答的問題的類型，你可以了解其人生的方方面面。

人們問我的這些問題，雖然提問時(shí)都帶著聽上去真實(shí)的緊迫感，但就人生而言，卻是未經(jīng)深思熟慮的懶惰問題，而他們預(yù)計(jì)我的人生會(huì)懶散地延續(xù)到未來。

你畢業(yè)后有什么打算？

我想到了世界各地和我同齡的女性，她們生活在戰(zhàn)區(qū)，沒有清潔的水，丈夫比自己大40歲。她們會(huì)如何回答呢？

你想如何規(guī)劃自己的人生？

我想到了人類過去的千百年，那些14歲投身戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)的男孩，那些由于迷信而被斬首的女性。他們對(duì)這個(gè)問題有什么想法？

“嗯，今天我爭(zhēng)取不死。如果做到了，明天我還要爭(zhēng)取不死。”

毫無(wú)疑問，這是個(gè)鮮明的對(duì)比。但事實(shí)是這樣的：我所恐懼的未來—貼著卷曲照片的一個(gè)格子間，以一場(chǎng)激烈的離婚而告終的一段冷淡的婚姻—是一場(chǎng)自我放縱的噩夢(mèng)。那是饕餮盛宴之后消化不良導(dǎo)致的胃疼。

或許悲慘是相對(duì)的，問題是抽象的，答案因人而異，就像人們問我的問題。但是有些事情是絕對(duì)的，問題是具體的，答案是發(fā)自肺腑的，就像人們沒有問的問題：你沒水了嗎？你身體可好？你擔(dān)心自己的性命嗎？

等我年齡大了，我希望在回首往事時(shí)，不會(huì)質(zhì)問自己為什么不爭(zhēng)取更高的基本工資，或者為什么不更努力地學(xué)習(xí)來準(zhǔn)備研究生入學(xué)考試。

但我真的希望自己記得年輕時(shí)擁有的這種感覺，這種我感受到的籠罩著身心的惶恐，因?yàn)槊鎸?duì)人生的種種問題，我沒有答案，同時(shí)又確信這些問題是應(yīng)該提出的最重要的問題。我希望我會(huì)想到這些恐懼是多么幼稚與自私，特別是在我冷淡的婚姻破裂之時(shí)，以及再過30年之后，在我退休那天將格子間褪色的照片揭下之時(shí)。

我希望自己記得用了多長(zhǎng)時(shí)間才發(fā)現(xiàn)這些是不適合提出的錯(cuò)誤問題。

當(dāng)我女兒翻閱大學(xué)宣傳冊(cè)，因?yàn)樽约汉?jiǎn)歷上的大片空白而胃口不佳時(shí)，我會(huì)問她：“你身體可好？”

當(dāng)我的第二任丈夫與會(huì)計(jì)師見面后，我們了解到情況比我們想象的更糟，我們將比自己想象的更拮據(jù)，我們?cè)?jīng)以為永遠(yuǎn)不用擔(dān)心之后又將開始憂慮重重。此時(shí)，他倒了一杯飲料，我會(huì)問他：“你會(huì)活到明天嗎？”

當(dāng)我90歲時(shí)，我會(huì)蹣跚地走到那位跟我一樣在等待咖啡的20歲女孩身邊，微笑著對(duì)她說：“你沒水了嗎？”

1. Hallmark cards：賀曼賀卡。賀曼是美國(guó)深受消費(fèi)者青睞的賀卡品牌，于1910年由喬伊斯.C.霍爾（Joyce C. Hall， 1891～1982）創(chuàng)立。

2.protagonist [pr???t?ɡ?n?st] n. 主角；主角演員，主演演員

3.nostalgia [n??st?ld??] n. 戀舊，懷舊

4.crop top：露腹短上衣

5.attire [??ta??（r）] n. 服裝，衣著

6.debilitatingly [d??b?l??te?t??li] adv. 使衰弱地

7.wired [?wa??（r）d] adj. 天生的，固有的

8.concession [k?n?se?（?）n] n. 讓步，妥協(xié)

9.bread and butter：謀生之道

10.Taylor Swift：泰勒·斯威夫特（1989～），美國(guó)鄉(xiāng)村音樂與流行音樂創(chuàng)作女歌手、演員、慈善家，代表作品有歌曲“Our Song”“Love Story”等。

11.trajectory [tr??d?ekt（?）ri] n. （事物的）發(fā)展軌跡

12.loom [lu?m] vi. （問題或困難）逼近，臨近

13.entertain [?ent?（r）?te?n] vt. 懷著，抱有，持有（信心、觀點(diǎn)等）

14.max out：把（金錢或供應(yīng)品）用光，用盡

15.trafficking [?tr?f?k??] n. （毒品的）非法販賣

16.witchcraft [?w?t??krɑ?ft] n. 迷信，巫術(shù)

17.plaster [?plɑ?st?（r）] vt. 粘貼于，張貼于

18.lukewarm [?lu?k?w??（r）m] adj. 不熱情的，冷淡的

19.visceral [?v?s?r?l] adj. 發(fā)自肺腑的

20.encompassing [?n?k?mp?s??] adj. 包羅萬(wàn)象的，無(wú)所不包的

21.pamphlet [?p?mfl?t] n. 小冊(cè)子