I was an only child
And my parents taught me that I could do anything
So I wanna do everything!
Like learn to weld and learn to ski
And learn to write ethnographies
I care! (I guess!)
Sure all of this spilled ink is troubling
Maybe we're just writing in the sand
Chasing after scraps of credibility
In a world that's just too big to understand

So I reflect on my time in college
Till I almost can't breathe
For want of some kinda clarity
Assurances of who I should be
Potential selves I stole from books
And all the precious time it took
Oh well—what's next?

Daydreaming of doctorates in anything
Just to feel like I'm not sitting still
Sick from the alternative to publishing
As if that’s what I need—a degree?

Epistemology has me shaken
All the paths I could have taken
Never leave
I'm a code switching mess
Trying my best to believe

In any sort
Of suitable identity
I haven't touched a book in weeks
Am I a fraud? What's that make me?
A stranger at the very least

I've become my own key informant
A messenger of loss for things that mattered so much to me
They just won't go away quietly
My brittle faith, my outstretched hands
My aptitude for changing plans, for what? Yeah, for what?

All this time spent thinking knowledge was in some way noble
Learn to smile as if to say "trust me, I trust myself!"
In the absence of an education—curiosity
A degree is the last thing I need

I'm a stranger, loathe to declare any major, let me be
Reckless with my five-year plans and checklists
Let me be one big code switching mess
Trying my best to believe

Now I'm just old and tired,
Still struggling to find a life that makes sense to me
Or the meaning in anything
A stupid dream, a broken heart
I guess I’ll blame the liberal arts, oh well—
What’s next? What’s next? What’s next?