music: Top Shelf- 12/3/2005, Boston, MA
Five years ago this week I woke up, packed all my worldly possessions into a U-Haul truck, and drove them from a barn-like yellow house on 276 George Street in Providence, RI to a funny-smelling yellow house in Jamaica Plain, MA. When I finally returned the U-Haul truck and that monumental day had ended, I can remember siting on the couch-come-cat scratch post in JP in complete stupifying shock. College had ended. The total distance spanned that day was probably less than 50 miles, but in more personal terms, that drive from Providence to Boston was an ocean crossing into a new and unfamiliar continent. Before the final semester of my senior year of college, I’d never really given much thought to what came after. Five years completely removed from such a rich personal pantheon, I realize that I’ve been subsisting on that strange new continent called adulthood long enough to stake a claim to it. This weekend marked the completion of my fifth year of life after college. And to commemorate such a herculean act of survival: an honorable invitation from the old homestead to come back and celebrate the passage of time with old friends.
Because of the manner in which things ended for most of the class of 2001, things were very open-ended. There were very few acknowledgements amongst the faithful of how the events of late May, 2001 would mark a very significant end to the what will prove to be one of the best experiences of our lives. There would, of course, be no going home again, because home was not as much a collection of buildings on campus as it was the collection of people who worked and learned and slept in those buildings. To have a critical mass of those people in that place once again was positive beyond all imagining. There were friends who I haven’t seen since our own graduation, people I’d largely taken for granted during our time in college, and having so many of them reunited in one place was a testament to what we had, as well as a reminder to me that I am a very lucky person to be able to contribute to that environment. I have never experienced so many inspiring and amazing people in such close proximity as I did in college.
This from my notebook on Satruday afternoon:We intersect with others’ lives and often take the time we share with them for granted. Being back here is a blast in the face of how much we share with others and how quicky and completely it can slip away. I’m sitting on Brown’s Main Green right now, on a bench next to Sayles Hall, looking at the graduation stage. Alumni of all ages and experiences walk past me, each reminded in their own way of a time they shared with others here and those experiences and people that defined four of the most incredible years of their lives. I miss what I had here now that I’m back in it, immersed in it. I’ve almost forgotten, and it is supremely bittersweet. Beautiful because of right now, this moment, this weekend; sad that the once brilliant intersection of my life with college has passed.
In a very palpable way this revisiting of the place that was my world, for better worse, allows me to let go of it a little more. Seeing this place, knowing that I can still look in from the outside (and that I really can only look in from the outside) and more importantly realizing that I still can connect with those who have left with me gives me some sense of finality. Brown was the reason why I moved East. This is the beginning of the end of my time here.
One of the highlights of commencement weekend is a highly ritualized and traditional procession that seniors, alumni, and faculty participate in. The procession inverts at one point as to allow you to acknowledge and applaud everybody else that is walking. It is an incredibly meaningful occassion, and above all else ties you into a very disperse-yet-strong community. For most of us seeing the head of the procession lead by what remains of the classes from the early 1900’s is an incredibly moving experience. Alumni are always welcome to participate in the procession, although it is only usually done when your class has a significant reunion anniversary. This year, despite the best of intentions, I did not walk. In its place I hauled to Middletown, CT to witness my younger sister participate in her commencement exercises. It was a beautiful and sympbolically appropriate way to wrap up the weekend to witness one of my family in exactly the same place I was five years ago: saying goodbye to a blissful world and expecting great things from the next, on the brink of a voyage to some unexplored continent. Reunions are for celebrating what was, and for that they are amazing and beautiful, but without starting something new from a weekend of reunion something is lost. Commencement is, after all, a beginning. For my sister, there definitely is a new beginning. And after 5 years of life out of college, perhaps there is one for me as well.
Posted by davidtaus at May 29, 2006 02:16 PM | TrackBack