I graduated early. A few of my friends did, too. Some have jobs and are waiting around until the commencement ceremony so they can post up at their cubicles and earn a salary. Some, like me, are “studying for the LSAT” or enjoying what little time we have left with no responsibility. Despite the difference in attitude about confirmed employment and the horrors of the real world, we do have one thing in common: right now, we all have too much free time on our hands. Let me put it this way – I read a book the other day. Way too much free time.

One day this past week, a few friends and I left a party after drinking recklessly and without reason, as college kids are wont to do. It was 3 a.m. or so, the streets were empty, and we were giddy and weird and loudly stumbling our way home. Around the Celtic Knot, we were stopped by a homeless man asking for two dollars. We told him we don’t have any money, and he called our bluff, knowing we’re students and that we definitely have money and reminding us that all he needs is two dollars. I sensed that the situation could escalate, so I told him I’ve got something better than two dollars. Two beers.

I pulled out of my pockets a couple of frosty Busch Lights we had taken for the road. The homeless man’s eyes instantly lit up, and all talk of the two dollars halted. My friends pulled out their road beers, and we enjoyed an early morning brew on the streets of Evanston together. We talked for maybe 10 minutes. He turned out to be a nice guy, and the conversation centered on how he’d definitely aged well, since he looked way younger than 47. We talked about the other homeless people we’ve met and the various schemes they’d used to coerce money from the students of Northwestern. We talked about his life, his family and how he got to this place. When we finished our beers, we said goodbye to our new transient friend. With his parting words, he told us that we’re all right, and that we shouldn’t waste our lives like he did.

The next day, I thought about what he said in relation to these post-collegiate blues I’m sure we all have. I’m more worried about being unimportant than being homeless. Wasting a life could be doing nothing or doing nothing worthwhile, unhappy and stuck in a place you don’t want to be. That’s why college was so remarkable. Every quarter was something new, and it never felt like it was going to end. Maybe I’m just sad that it’s over.

I worked in an office last summer and the only experience I gained was an extreme aversion to offices and corporate culture. I woke up at 6 a.m., took a train to New York, worked from 9-5 on mindless tasks, arrived home around 7 p.m., and did it all again every day for 3 months. As I see students planning meticulously for the future (“I’m going to work for 2-3 years, then get my MFA, then work for 10 more and become a VP, then get a wife and kids and die and it all starts now”), I can’t help but lament about how bleak it all looks when you actually get to the beginning. I’m sure I’m not alone when I look at my options for the immediate future and don’t see anything particularly exciting. More of the same – boredom, insignificance, repetition.

So I’m not going to make plans right now. Plans force you down a specific track and remove the sense of adventure that should be inherent in every person. Maybe I’ll wind up in Louisiana, alone, poor as dirt, doing oddjobs for a little scrap money. Or working on a fishing boat for long hours and months at a time. But if I’m happy, I won’t have wasted anything.

Tom Hayden is a Weinberg senior. He can be reached at [email protected]. Illustration by Alice Liu.