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As even the most casual readers of the McConnell Center blog have likely realized, the class of
2025’s time at the University of Louisville is rapidly expiring. It seems impossible, at this point,
to approach anything in my life without reference to this essential fact. If I’m making plans with
friends, I’d better make sure to solidify them before May. If I see advertisements for upcoming
events, I figure I’ll wait to decide whether to attend until I decide where I’ll be after May. If I
pass a new development, I wonder if I’ll be around to see it open its doors. And so on.
My opinion on graduation, as it creeps closer, has become increasingly convoluted. I won’t, here,
spend too much time lamenting my free time or relative lack of responsibility, nor will I
articulate the features of post-grad life that actually excite me – the real complication that afflicts
my perspective on graduation is a bit more abstract (though, admittedly, no more original) than
these concerns. Graduating raises larger questions about my long-term direction and, for perhaps
the first time, seems to demand real answers. Leaving college seems to presuppose some greater
path which precipitated the leaving in the first place. In other words, I’m graduating, but what
am I graduating to? I know, logically, that I don’t need (and won’t have) all the answers by May
10 th , but the fact of my graduation at least begs more sustained reflection on these broader,
sometimes unpleasant, questions.
In considering the future, I’ve often found myself thinking back to a book I read with the
McConnell Center earlier this year: CS Lewis’s The Great Divorce. The book chronicles a man’s
venture from hell into heaven, and so presents a version of the afterlife grounded in individual
choice. Residents of hell can, at any time, choose to enter heaven, provided they are willing to let
go of their sins and undertake a difficult journey. The most thought-provoking part of the book,
at least for me, is Lewis’s description of the effect of heaven on the residents of hell. On arrival
to heaven, those visiting from become thin, vaporous ghosts; as they progress toward God, they
become more solid and more real in the process of “thickening.” It’s this process that’s been top
of mind as I prepare for graduation. Though I’m not trying to secularize Lewis (it feels almost
anachronistic to attempt that), I do think his ideas – that self-deception and materialism can thin
people out – can apply in the physical world, as well as the metaphysical one. As I move into the
next part of my life, I’ve found the book to represent my overarching goals quite well. At the
most basic level, I’d like to focus on the things that contribute to solidity. I’d like to avoid
shallow affiliations, petty dramas, and an unhealthy attachment to my possessions. Given the
preponderance of things that are actually fake (the amount of AI generated art, music, articles,
books, etc. I’ve encountered is truly absurd), I have a feeling that seeking the “real” things will
only become more difficult. Lewis, however, encourages us to try despite the obstacles.
Though the solid grass may initially cause discomfort, and the unfamiliarity of the environment
inspires distress, just like The Great Divorce’s narrator, I’m resolved to keep walking.
Megan Crowley is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2025 at the University of Louisville. She is studying political science.