How College Taught Me to Chase a Mouse

For 12 years of my life, who I was had a very solid definition that lived in the letters of one everyday word--student.

On college graduation day, that definition ceased to exist as I knew it. I was thrown (gently, as I still live with my parents and pay minimal amounts of bills) into the unpredictable space that exists post-graduation.

So much of me revolved around school. Until I was forced to live a daily life that lacked class, professors, expensive textbooks (that's one perk), and a dorm room with my best friends, I didn't realize that "student" may as well have been my middle name. What is it that I am really good at? What are the things I know how to do better than almost anything else?

I can write a five-page essay analyzing British literature in two hours.
I can proofread and study in bed surviving off of green tea and Celeste $1 pizzas.
I can wear yoga pants and the same college hoodie four days in a row and not blink.
I can wake up at 9:21 am and make it to a 9:30 class.

Now, five months later, I realize that Celeste pizzas are not, in fact, a suitable staple in one's diet, and no one is hiring for professional British lit analyzers.

Are the skills I learned in college useful?

This is a question I have lately discussed with numerous friends, and although opinions differ, I have decided that yes, the skills I learned in college are useful.

Aside from the academic value of higher education (I did get something out of gen eds, loathe as I am to admit it), all of those late nights spent editing and all of those early mornings spent rushing taught me a lot about how to handle the real world.

The other day I was sitting on the couch, peacefully doing some freelance work while having my tea and enjoying the silence of an empty house. So different from a college environment.

Suddenly a small shape darted across the dining room. The cutest little mouse had come up from the basement and was scurrying, terrified, to safety under potted plants my mother insists on keeping everywhere. He was adorable and scared and I had to save him. But first, I had to check on the beasts. Luckily, both dogs were sleeping (and snoring).

It looked like the coast was clear. I grabbed a broom and some shredded cheese and started coaxing the mouse to the door. All was going well and I was feeling really proud of myself when 135 pounds of dog barreled past me and cornered my new friend.

Della.

Within seconds I had one arm around her giant dog waist, simultaneously balancing a broom and cheese in the other hand, desperately trying to keep her from killing a mouse. She escaped, of course, and now I was chasing them both. My workday had been officially interrupted.

Della didn't kill the mouse, but I didn't save him either. To this day he is still at large.

And all I could think was, "This reminds me of college."

In college, ridiculous things like this happened all the time. There were plenty of moments where I was doing something similar to running around the house with a broom and cheese. I remember laughing so much at school. I also remember crying a lot and worrying a lot and panicking a lot.

Newsflash, Alex.

Tears and stress and panic don't disappear with a degree. Once you've earned it, you have to do something with it. College does not equal a job. But college does equal a lot of life lessons and practice for handling real life situations that are much more serious than chasing a mouse.

So in my opinion, college did teach me a lot of useful skills. I know how to edit and I (sort of) understand philosophy and I am now a well-rounded individual. But I also know how to chase and lose a mouse without having a panic attack. And I am able to get back to work after losing said rodent.

I'm going to lose a lot of mice during the rest of my life. But now I know how to just get over it.

Thanks, college. I now understand chaos.