The Graduate

It's that time of year again: Graduation, be it from high school, college, kindergarten, cooking school--it's around the corner. Graduation can be super stressful, hectic, and messy, so I thought I could guide you through the waters of my graduation. That way you might feel more prepared for yours. -Kat

Big news, InnerScoops readers: I write to you for the first time as an official graduate of the University of Southern California!

(Cue fanfare, confetti cannons, sparklers, and my own personalized World of Color production)

Obligatory mirror shot. Sorry for the shaving cream, I share a bathroom with boys. 

Okay okay, so maybe it’s not “big news” to anyone but me, and perhaps Disneyland is not interested in creating an entirely new water spectacular for this momentous occasion, but I think you get my point. On Friday, I walked across the stage to receive my Bachelor’s Degree—or rather, the folder that will eventually hold it—in International Relations, with minors in Cinematic Arts and Spanish. From our 8am call time to McCarthy Quad to the end of my small ceremony at 2pm, it was a LONG day.

USC’s graduation runs in a fashion that I imagine to be similar across all mid- to large-sized universities: one huge commencement ceremony, in which the big name speaker makes an address, and then smaller satellite ceremonies for each college. This year, we were lucky enough to have the amazing Christiane Amanpour deliver our commencement address. I’ll say now, I nearly had a cow (Ed Note: that phrase isn’t used nearly enough anymore, and thus begins my official campaign to reintroduce it into the lexicon) when I found out that Ms. Amanpour would be speaking to us. From my earliest aspirations to grow up to be Rori Gilmore, I have admired this ultimate Madame of international field journalism for her tenacity, bravery, and absolutely fascinating accent; last year wrote a piece on her work for my personal blog. 

Skating past my horribly unsubtle self-promotion, Ms. Amanpour delivered a great address. Particularly entertaining moments: she mentioned that our parents will likely help us with finances post-grad so that we can pursue our passions—at which point the student body erupted in cheers—and implored us to put down our cell phones and connect with people—at which point the parents erupted in equally fervent applause.

There were some obvious moments where Chrissy (we’re BFFs, duh) went off book, but she stayed true to her point: brazenly, passionately, and resolutely go after your dreams, because now is the time to carpe the heck out of your diems. My favorite thing she said, which I promptly tweeted, was that the time after her graduation felt like “a tsunami of possibility and hope.”

WHAT. A. METAPHOR.

The day continued into my satellite ceremony, which happened at the Shrine Auditorium. I have to say, considering it’s the place they used to hold the Oscars, I was underwhelmed by the building. I guess I should say, actually, and in the tradition of 10 Things I Hate About You, I was whelmed; if the place they held us before entering the auditorium was the Green Room for the likes of Clooney, Murray, and Crystal just a decade ago, they must love how bougie the Kodak Theater is!

Our ceremony happened without much fanfare. The Dean spoke, we walked across the stage—I wore a bunch of leis and a glowing necklace, in the tradition of the raves held there that I seriously would NEVER attend—and we sang the alma mater. And then we walked out and it was over. It was all so…anticlimactic.

But I guess that’s how these things go, right? All the pomp and circumstance (see what I did there, with the graduation song? I’m hilarious, I know) surrounding our ritualistic behavior is entirely symbolic, only entrenched in meaning when we assign that meaning. It carries no weight on its own and—oh heavens, let me stop myself before you slam your computers closed. I apologize: the Critical Studies departments at USC have clearly invaded my brain with visions of cultural constructs dancing in my head.

However, there was a moment where I really felt like I graduated. After all the ceremonies and the family pictures and returning my cap and gown, I stopped by the Lyon Center. Lyon, as it is affectionately (sort of) known, is our school gym and my place of employment for the last two years. I won’t say that working there was some eye-opening foray into the professional world, because it was really just a work-study job. But that was the place that I met some really important people in my life, and where I spent a lot of time working and working out in the past, oh, 700 days.

So for people who work at Lyon, there’s this tradition when you graduate. The swim stadium is one of our facilities, and it has one of those crazy-high tiered diving platforms. After graduation, seniors are supposed to jump of the tallest point—10 meters—in their cap and gown. I had chosen not to, because I was supposed to go out to lunch with my family after the ceremonies, so I returned my gown. But our cab was running late, our reservation got pushed back, and I had a spare set of workout clothes in my locker. That’s how I ended up, at 3:30 in the afternoon of my graduation day, standing on the edge of a diving platform in my work uniform and being filmed by my parents.

See, I have this thing about open spaces. A lot of people are claustrophobic, but what gets my heart racing is the idea of depth and expansion without visible end. I don’t see space movies in IMAX—a lesson I learned the hard way after seeing Star Trek—and, though I’m working on SCUBA certification, I have no desire to go night or deep diving. As such, you can see why I may have panicked a little bit. Standing there on that platform, staring about three stories down into a diving well, with my parents pointing two cameras at me, felt like actual graduation. All that symbolic meaning that was supposed to be in flipping my tassel and walking across stage—yeah, I had transferred that into this one moment of jumping off the high dive. This pool was now representative of my adult life, all my fears about what was ahead of me in the unknown, and I had to jump feet first and arms tucked into it to avoid heavy bruising and serious pain. How’s that for symbolism?

I stood for a second, thinking how dumb it was for me to be so scared. Katherine, this is a freaking pool. You used to be a swimmer. Just—

And I jumped.

And I survived.

And I laughed all the way down.

And I think that is a far better ritual for graduation than just walking across a stage.