By Sarah Cooper

scooper@dailysparkstribune.com

I sat in the quad Thursday night, one lone red-head reporter in a sea of empty white chairs. Soon, I would be one of the sea of graduates to fill those white chairs. One out of about 1,400 people. But Thursday night, I wasn’t a statistic.

And in this day, statistics can be scary.

About 10 percent of Nevadans are looking for a job. Nationwide, about 80 percent of college grads are going to be unemployed this year, according to the National Association of Colleges and Employers. The city of Sparks, where I have spent the last year reporting for the Sparks Tribune, laid off 85 people this year. Five friends are now scrambling for work after the credit union where they worked closed.

And we are graduating into this world?

As pervasive as those statistics may be on the front page of your daily news, they were not what was going through my head as I sat there alone in the quad. All I could think was, “Wow, I am graduating.”

Don’t get me wrong, I have never been one to sugarcoat an issue. The graduating class of spring 2009 at the University of Nevada, Reno is entering a scary world.

Just last week I saw another group of people, about 5,000 deep, lined up outside John Ascuaga’s Nugget. They were all looking for jobs along with 10 percent of Nevada’s population. Just last month, I saw a journalism school friend get 10 rejection letters from various West Coast newspapers. They almost all said the same thing: “Due to the current economic situation, we are not currently hiring. Thanks for applying.” Just this year, about 90 people got their pink slips from the Reno Gazette-Journal.

What are we getting thrown into here? The world’s economy seems to be a story ripped straight from the headlines: a hellish swarm of the unemployed. And with a quick smile and a handshake I will be graduating into that world.

But I am not a statistic. I am Sarah Cooper.

I walked onto the UNR campus five years ago, a starry-eyed girl with dreams of being the next Woodward or Bernstein. The world was mine to take. I just needed to study hard and get that degree. Then I would be ready for the real reporter’s world.

Well, the real reporter’s world is different now, as it is with all industries. Our generation has never experienced an economy this depressed. A simple Google news search turns up about 30 million results on the economy. Most include the words “depressed,” “sagging,” “weak,” “shrinking” … well, you get the picture. I don’t need to tell you about the economy.

But these stories are not about me. Nor would I say that they are about you. Boil it down and I refuse to believe that we are simple statistics.

After the peaceful reflection on Thursday night, I sat in the swarm of students with close friends at Saturday’s graduation ceremony. Then we all walked across that stage, flipped our tassels to the other side and sat back down in odd bewilderment. As I looked at each of these girls, these friends whom I had worked with and studied with and agonized over grades with, it hit me that we were all headed in different directions. We were done — time to go conquer our own little corners of the world.

I am one of the lucky ones. Monday morning, I will be taking a seat at my desk as a full-time reporter for the Sparks Tribune. Somehow, I defied the unemployment statistics.

The reason I have my job is not purely economic, although being able to eat something other than Top Ramen and pizza post-college will be great. I want what I do with my time to make a difference. I want to take what I have learned and leave a positive mark on my community. I will tirelessly pursue any information that will help you be better informed about your community and make informed decisions about your life in Sparks. That is my passion. That is what I hope I can do with my degree.

But what about those other girls? The friends who I cared so much about. What mark will they leave on the world?

That is their decision to make, just as it is yours.

After the caps have been thrown and the gowns hung up in a musty corner of the closet, college graduation is not about getting a job. In fact, considering it in the light of just getting a job would do complete injustice to a university education.

In the end, we are all individuals with something priceless to contribute to the world. And there is no statistic that can quantify that.

By Krystal Bick

kbick@dailysparkstribune.com

It’s 12:38 a.m. and I graduate from college in seven hours. Five years, several grandiose dreams about how to leave my mark on the world and one long day ahead of me in a “one-size-fits-all” gown — it all boils down to this.

This one moment.

And I feel, well, ambivalent.

Yes, ambivalent. Not ungrateful — quite the opposite, actually. For the past several weeks, I’ve been burdened with the annoyingly ubiquitous question, “What are you going to do after you graduate?” I temper my use of the word “burdened” because I realize just how lucky I am to be so-called “burdened” with that question in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m fortunate and I know it.

I feel ambivalent only because that aforementioned question, the dreaded words to any college graduate’s ears, is downright frightening.

Thoughts of “the real world” and “being adults” suddenly take on all new meanings that gnaw at me and keep me up at night. It’s no longer the question of “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Now it’s “What do you want to be when you grow up? And by the way, you have three seconds to decide, because this it, your life starts now … 3 … 2 … 1 … go.”

Wait, what?

Were we at starting blocks this whole time and I just didn’t know it?

But perhaps that’s not fair of me to ask. You don’t need me to tell you that I’m graduating into a world that has seen record highs for unemployment, an economy in shambles and, as any other print journalist will confirm, a job market that is seeing pink slips, final editions and doors closing indefinitely.

Understandably, the logical and sane-thinking person would be rushing out for a job. Hungry for it even.

But I’m still so goddamn ambivalent.

The catch? I think we all should be ambivalent to a certain extent.

Just a few days ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Jim. Jim, who happened to be shopping with his sister in the same shoe aisle as me at Target, is the jovial, grandfather-type who sneaks you an extra piece of candy with a wink.

After a random conversation that started over the genius behind flip-flops, Jim recapped much of his life for me, including teaching psychology in correctional facilities, being a real estate agent, raising a family in New York and now being the caretaker for his sister.

And he’s happy. He has a genuine laugh to prove it. I’m sure when someone asked him years ago what he was going to do when he graduated, he would never have described his life quite like it turned out.

And you know what? That’s OK.

Yes, plans are great. Yes, the education to back them up, even better. And yes, yes, yes starting that job on the Monday after graduation will give you security, especially now of all times.

But, on the other hand, it’s the ambivalence, the uncertainty — better yet, the unknown possibilities — that oftentimes make their own plans for you.

For the past several years, I’ve been a diligent journalism student. Took the courses, received high grades and even have been working professionally at the Sparks Tribune for over a year now.

Next week, I will be doing the unthinkable by quitting that job. It scares the hell out of me and, trust me, it never makes for a good answer to the post-graduation-plans question, garnering a combination of responses and raised eyebrows and stammers of, “Really?!”

Sometimes I can’t believe it either. It’s not the logical next step, and that’s why I like it. All my most recent educational and professional decisions have made sense, been planned and executed. Except for the graduating in four years part, but you get the picture.

Nearly 99.999 percent of my steps have fit into the “plan” because we emphasize figuring out that “plan” so much.

It’s 3 a.m. right now and I say, forget the “plan.” In less than five hours, I’ll be walking across that stage, shaking a sweaty palm and taking an out-of-step step for me. And it’ll feel good.

Or, to beg the question in the words of Bob Dylan, “Oh mama, can this really be the end?”

To all those graduating, it’s hardly the end. We’re just beginning and I’m excited to see what new — and unplanned — places that takes me.