A Senior’s Thoughts on College, Corona, and the Longing for More

On November 25, 1963, the Las Vegas Strip and all its casinos shut down for President John F. Kennedy’s funeral after his assassination. Since then, the glitzy hotel-casinos had always remained open — even after 9/11, even after the 2008 financial crisis, even after the 2017 Las Vegas shooting. But on March 18, 2020, the casinos closed. They closed along with all other nonessential businesses in the state of Nevada, mirroring actions in other states and signaling what was to come for our country.

This is the surreal-ness of the new world we’re living in, where we are facing a disruption to our daily lives as unprecedented as in recent memory. On the eve of all UC Berkeley in-person classes being cancelled, in a text conversation with a classmate, he had described himself feeling like he was just floating, with his perception of time all off. He felt like “life has just come to a complete stop but is also simultaneously spiraling rapidly.”

Indeed, these are very strange, stressful, and sad times. In terms of the college campus and college life, many have had to reckon with questions and anxieties about the implications. Among other things, students have been put in a position to reflect on college life, the experiences we had and expectations we have, how those change in a new light, given our situation with the virus.

As a current senior about to graduate from UC Berkeley and a professing Christian, my perspective might be uncommon. College can mean so many things to many different people, and it is hard to articulate exactly how people feel, especially during these times. But I can try, and I believe what I have felt and grappled with may be similar to what others have experienced, hopefully being relatable at least to a certain extent.

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It’s hard to think now but only a few weeks ago did life seem normal, before our way of life was turned upside down. At the onset of school being moved from in-person to online, I was sad at first to think what the ramifications were for the rest of the semester. As a senior in my final semester of college, what would this mean for graduation? I was sad to think if graduation was cancelled, then my family wouldn’t get the chance to see me walk and be proud of me. It would have meant so much for my parents, for all the sacrifices they made for me and my success. But they wouldn’t get that opportunity anymore. I wouldn’t get to experience the cheerful hugs and the photos, the sweeping sense of pride that I graduated from UC Berkeley.

Also, I thought about not being able to see my friends graduate. The friends who I’ve gone through college with, through thick and thin, being able to celebrate and be proud of their accomplishments, all of the hugs and high fives and photos — that was gone too.

I thought about all of the missed festivities I was looking forward to at the end of the year. The grad pics I would take with my friends, the celebratory dinners and banquets. I thought about the missed moments that would have happened. The various “lasts” that I wouldn’t get to experience — my last class in formal education, my last walk to campus as a student, my last final exam.

I thought about the people who would move out of Berkeley in light of the situation, some of whom I might never see again. I thought about the friends and acquaintances who would graduate and move on with their lives. The missed opportunities to say goodbye, the last chances to see them. For some, maybe it was the last chance to connect with them, to relate on a deeper level, to share about the fun, hardships, life, the gospel.

As I thought about these things I couldn’t help but think of all of the things the class of 2020 has faced throughout college. From the craziness of the 2016 election cycle, to the free speech protests and riots that followed, to the several fires in the Bay Area and in California, polluting the air and cancelling classes and needing to wear masks and stay indoors, to the PG&E power outages. This was the latest catastrophe, and it seemed fitting to end our time in college with this utterly strange situation.

But this is different from the rest. As the situation has literally changed day by day, hour by hour, we have gone from a virus that popped up in one city on the other side of the world to a global pandemic. Our way of life has quite literally changed overnight — from merely promoting good hygiene to suspending in-person classes to sheltering-in-place and practicing “social distancing.” These kind of drastic measures taking place — schools closing down and switching to remote learning, nonessential businesses closing down, people being told to work from home, all public events and gatherings being cancelled from concerts to sporting events to conferences to political rallies to community events and religious services — I can’t help but be hit by the gravity of our situation.

Of course, these aren’t done lightly but are necessary to stem the tide against this virus, to flatten the curve. People are dying, and at the end of the day, not having the end of the semester that I imagined isn’t as important as protecting lives, especially those at risk. I won’t have the fitting end to my spring semester — my last year in college and the end of my identity as a student for almost two decades — the fitting end that I imagined, but what’s most important is to not get sick myself and to spread it to others who are more vulnerable, like my own family.

But still, there is a legitimate sadness from not being able to experience the various lasts, the once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, the missed experiences, the final goodbyes. Various feelings arise from thinking about these things, but I don’t believe we should just brush these under the rug — instead, we ought to explore what these feelings are and where they come from.

It’s hard to capture. But there is a sense of wrongness, almost. Like things aren’t supposed to be like this, things shouldn’t be ending like this. There is a sense of incompleteness, a desire for closure. For instance, when outright cancelling the rest of school was an option on the table, other classmates and I shared the same sentiment of not actually wanting that kind of abrupt end. We did not feel great about that idea; it just felt wrong to have things end like that, so abruptly and unfinished. The various lasts we didn’t get to experience, not having that kind of closure to our college experience, moments seemingly left on the table — there is just a sense of loss.

"It’s hard to capture. But there is a sense of wrongness, almost. Like things aren’t supposed to be like this, things shouldn’t be ending like this."

But more than this, why should things have to end at all? Just thinking about the last goodbyes, the people whose lives crossed with mine during college who I may never see again, it reminded me of friends and people in high school and how much divergence there was in our lives since then. Then, and now, do I feel a sense of longing in my heart, a feeling for more. Why do we have to have these goodbyes? Why can’t these relationships last longer? Why do things have to end? I think about both the happy moments I’ve created with people and the sad ones. Both the joy and the grief, the camaraderie and commiserating, the fellowship.

One way to approach the desire for completeness or closure is through psychology and examining the science behind the human brain. In one study, researchers found that in general we are more likely to recall uncompleted tasks than completed ones. And another study showed that this effect may be extrapolated to explain why we regret things we didn’t do more than we regret things we did do. This can maybe explain the feelings behind not being able to have the storybook ending to college that was anticipated.

But more than the desire for closure is the desire for things to not end. Specifically with relationships, with experiences and moments, it’s a feeling of wanting time to stop. It’s a feeling of complete contentment, a longing to just remain there as long as possible, a realization that it won’t stay like this forever. For me, I can feel it when I’m hanging out with friends and we’re just doing something together — maybe we’re playing games, having dinner, going hiking or kayaking or mini golfing, getting dessert, playing sports, having a picnic — just hanging out, talking and joking, having a good time. There is a feeling of exhilaration, but also a tinge of sadness — it’s bittersweet. So, in thinking about the missed moments and the missed connections with people I was anticipating, not only is the question why does it have to end so abruptly, but the question then becomes why does it have to end at all? There is just a desire for more. What is that feeling?

We can again look into psychology to search for meaning. There is a German concept called sehnsucht which does not have a simple translation in English, but it can best be described as a yearning for something you cannot explain. It is a longing for an inexplicable more, a longing for something beyond the human capacity to fulfill, a longing for an alternative state or realization of life. It is when you are satisfied with a moment but also sense that something is missing, something that would make everything complete. Psychologists have conceptualized these life longings into core characteristics, some of which include ambivalent (bittersweet) emotions, utopian conceptions of ideal development, and a sense of incompleteness and imperfection of life.

C.S. Lewis often wrote and reflected about this concept. The Christian writer referred to it as an “inconsolable longing,” a yearning for the so-called “far-off country,” a place we have never been to but seems intimately familiar, a place we have caught glimpses of. In its essence, it is a longing for eternity — for things to last and perfection to come. It is a realization of the fleetingness of life and a longing for fulfillment.

Turning to the Bible, we can see that it speaks directly to these things. 1 Chronicles 29:15 says, “For we are strangers before You and sojourners, as all our fathers were. Our days on the earth are like a shadow, and there is no abiding.” Hebrews 11:16 says, “But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared for them a city.” We are sojourners on this earth, recognizing that our lives here are only temporary and fleeting, our days like a shadow. We desire for more, which is the far-off country, a perfect one made by God where there is true fulfillment, a city where we can have fellowship with each other and with God for eternity.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” God has placed eternity into our hearts — this is why we yearn for eternity, for relationships to never end, for happiness and joy to never cease, for those moments of pure contentment and fulfillment to be permanent.

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In an email circulated to UC Berkeley faculty, staff, and students, Chancellor Carol Christ made the following comment: “In a 2009 book, Berkeley alum and author Rebecca Solnit set out to uncover how local communities responded when faced with catastrophic events like the 1985 Mexico City earthquake or 2005’s Hurricane Katrina. She found that out of chaos and grief there often emerged, paradoxically, a profound spirit of generosity, connection, and collective purpose. During dark times, she wrote, we tend to become more supportive of those around us, more understanding, more giving and forgiving, and more in touch with our common humanity.”

I think about all of the events that have transpired, thinking about this last semester, how it started off and how it may end, as well as thinking about my past four years in college, how God has led me up to this point and completely changed my life. I think about the uncertainty of our future, the natural anxieties that arise when thinking about the virus, the physical, emotional, financial and spiritual well-being of myself and of others.

This longing makes real the sense of life’s fleetingness, and the desire for eternity. It has grounded me and reminded me what is important. That I am a human, a child of God, more than flesh and bones. That I have an eternal soul. And that is the common humanity I believe we all share.

In the end, I am just thankful. I am thankful for the four years I’ve had in college. Even though it is sad how this year is ending, with no graduation, no more in-person classes, people going home and some maybe never seeing again — even though it feels very abrupt, incomplete, wrong — this longing that I have makes me appreciate the moments I’ve had along the way. Moments of joy, sadness, growth. This longing makes real the sense of life’s fleetingness, and the desire for eternity. It has grounded me and reminded me what is important. That I am a human, a child of God, more than flesh and bones. That I have an eternal soul. And that is the common humanity I believe we all share.

In the present moment we are waiting for God, waiting for Him to come and change things, to make perfect His creation. And we are able to hope in God because of who He is. 1 Peter 5:10 says, “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” And Psalm 63:1 says, “O God, You are my God; earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh faints for You, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” This yearning for more can only be satisfied by God, our heavenly Father. Only in Him can we find true closure and completeness. Only He is able to fulfill our longing for fulfillment and for eternity. So there is yet hope.