Adulthood and the myth of change
When you graduate from college, you naturally expect everything to change. To some extent, it will. Roughly six months after I graduated, I got a job, went on my first solo trip thanks to my earnings from said job, started feeling more independent (sometimes confused with impulse), and did a lot of things I thought only real adults could do.
And if it’s not me who’s going through major life changes and pivots post-grad, I’ll hear about said transformations through the grapevine regardless. At least two people I took classes with are getting or have gotten married to their partners, and I can’t keep track of the number of people pursuing new lives overseas, by way of master’s degrees or migration.
We always hear about how post-graduate life is when everything changes, when you’re expected to reinvent yourself as many times as you can to live all the lives that can possibly be lived in your twenties. In particular, there’s an air of romanticization that comes almost inherently with the act of reinvention.
Becoming a new person, by way of a significant transformation, is something we all want to experience one way or another. Thus, after college, we may find ourselves making major life decisions for the sake of it: run a marathon, take on higher education, travel the world, and whatever else looks and feels good on paper.
True reinvention, however, ought to go beyond what you can document on Instagram or LinkedIn. After graduating from college, or generally getting past a huge stage of our lives, it makes sense that we think new tangible experiences are the biggest markers of our growth.
But it’s the incremental changes in our mentalities that contribute most to our pursuit of reinvented selves.
As alluring as a new title, a new country, or a new social life may be, reinvention can emerge even in the mundane parts of our daily lives. A seemingly mere shift in how we react to or think through things causes the butterfly effects that drive the growth we romanticize.
Six months after graduating, I wouldn’t consider my professional endeavors, my travels, or all the new things I’ve tried as the biggest changes in my life since then—regardless of how grateful and transformed I’ve been by them. Instead, what tells me things are truly changing is the balancing act between independence and interdependence that leads me to these experiences and guides me through them, albeit imperfectly.
Post-grad life allows me to feel a sort of independence I couldn’t have fathomed as a student: the type that tells you you have to be your own boss and that you’re obligated to make your own decisions.
Meanwhile, contrary to popular belief, social interaction doesn’t completely fizzle out once you step out of university. Activities in both work and leisure serve as constant reminders that while I’m primarily responsible for myself, there’s no world where I’m absolved of responsibilities that involve other people and things.
There are days and situations when I lean more heavily toward one side than the other. I suppose that I’ll be able to feel like my most changed self when I reach the golden mean, one where my desire for independence and self-sufficiency supports—and is supported—by the people around me.
After all, isn’t that what adulthood is really all about? We work day in and day out, all with a goal in mind. But we can always seek out companionship along the way to make things a little sweeter.
So what really changes with life after graduation? Not as much as you’d think, only what you’ll allow it to.
This story was originally published in the January 2026 issue of Scout magazine
