The end, but not really

Lately, it seems like everyone around me is going through an existential crisis. Particularly in the senior class, there seems to be a collective panic that our days are numbered and, consequently, we should have a definitive life plan within the next few weeks. The onslaught of info sessions, coffee chats and the career fair have further solidified the unacceptability of uncertainty—we should know what we want to do, and act upon it quickly.

In a typical fashion, there emerges this pressure to not just be good but to do something great — obtaining the best job, the highest salary, the most prestigious grad program. We internalize these narrow metrics of success that, while easily quantifiable, don’t speak to the motives behind why we want to be successful in the first place. And so everyone seems to be able to list off what they’re doing but not particularly why they’re doing it.

It’s strange to witness a cohort of students scrambling to do the same things because, for the past three years, we’ve been told that we can do anything. College has always been presented to us as a time to explore and discover and challenge in what is a relatively low-risk environment. We can conduct research in Guatemala, volunteer with a nonprofit in Ireland, join a startup in San Francisco—Duke would support us through nearly any endeavor. Even on campus, the opportunities for engagement feel almost boundless—we can go see a YouTube star in Page Auditorium, have lunch with a world-renowned journalist or listen to a panel of experts speak on police brutality in America. One of the most intimidating things when I arrived at Duke was that fact that there was almost too much to do, too many opportunities to take advantage of—not a bad problem to have as an 18- year-old college freshman. And while I maybe haven’t been able to do everything I wanted, I have never felt like a door was entirely shut. If there was something I wanted badly enough, then there was an avenue to turn my vision into reality.

But as a senior, this theme of boundless opportunity no longer seems to apply to me. Rather than “You can do anything,” I feel the increasing pressure of “Choose one thing and run with it and that will define you forever.” After three years of trying a little bit of everything, it’s time to choose the one thing I’ve presumably been working toward my entire undergraduate experience. It is terrifying. And while I should feel empowered and hopeful for everything the future has to offer, I can’t help but feel that with every job I don’t apply to or opportunity I don’t accept, I am watching one door after another shut close. Life almost seems smaller, this critical first decision all the more paramount. I don’t feel like I am merely deciding what to do next year but determining my entire life trajectory.

And so that nagging feeling remains: what if I make the wrong choice?

I am scared of limitation, and I wonder if life after Duke will be rife with limits as my peers and I settle into stable jobs, consider families, make long-term plans. Duke feels like the end, but is it really? I feel confident about my career goals and broader aspirations, but if I do happen to be wrong, is that really the end?

The scary part about all these real life decisions is the fact that it feels so confining while also being riddled with uncertainty and the pressure to make the “right” choice. Of course, it would be fantastic for life to turn out exactly the way we want it to. But whatever path we choose, it does not mean we are forever trapped along that trajectory.

We are still so young, and I want to believe this is not it for us. We still have the whole world in front of us, ready to be shaped and moved and transformed. Choosing a definitive path may give us focus, but it is not the end-all and be-all.

We were told when we got here that we could do anything. I hope we hold this as truth even long after we leave.

Michelle Menchaca is a Trinity senior. Her column runs on alternate Tuesdays.