IT’S ALWAYS HARD to see my students in the journalism program at UMass-Amherst scatter at graduation, but this year is even worse.
The uncertainty in the economy has the class of 2009 trembling. “Should I apply to be an assistant manager at Wendy’s” asks a student whose dream it was to work for a small-town paper, her voice shrill with disappointment. This spring, I was tempted to give an un-graduation speech and to suggest that the newly minted grads lower their expectations, that they rein in their rambunctious natures, and recognize a painful truth: Even in the best of times, your 20s can be rough. You’re going to run up against bosses who have it in for you. The fault lines in your family will become clear in a way they may not have been earlier in your life. Friendships you thought would last forever get redefined and sometimes erode altogether. Your very youthfulness will inspire as much envy as it does admiration. And these are not the best of times. And then I thought twice. Young people setting forth in the tradition of James Joyce to forge in the smithy of their souls the uncreated consciousness of their race need pipe dreams, not lectures, now as much as ever.
When classes ended a few weeks ago, I looked out on the last day, traditionally reserved for pizza and a reading list, and I saw myself at that age: juiced with energy, low on wisdom, and champing at the bit to find my place in the world.