Many of you who know anything about me personally are aware of the fact that “Murphy’s Law” applies to my projects on a fairly constant basis. Many of you also know that in my alternate life as a university administrator, I have served on the campus graduation committee for the past nine seasons. As with any event, they never go exactly as planned – one year the vocalist didn’t show, another year they somehow ran out of scrolls in the middle of the graduates’ walk. In fact, in the years I’ve helped run the ceremony, the only thing that hasn’t happened yet is a last-minute loss of the keynote speaker. And now that I’m responsible for coordinating and running the show, you can gather that a disappearing keynote is bound to happen at some point.
So for the past five years, starting with my masters’ graduation, I’ve written my own back-up speech to deliver on that inevitable day when it’s finally needed. This year’s address read as follows:
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I’ve always thought it weird how in America, we use the term “commencement” for the celebration at the end of one’s academic journey. It seems to contradict the very meaning of the word; the definition of “commencement” is literally “a beginning or start.” One would think that for this occasion we’d choose a more suitable word, like “finale” or “denouement” or even “I never have to do a fifteen-slide PowerPoint in APA format ever again celebration.” Something befitting the occasion, right?
So I was thinking about this the other day as I was packing up the supplies for the ceremony and verifying timelines and reminiscing about my own end-of-college celebrations from my bachelor’s degree I-don’t-want-to-admit-how-many years ago. I remembered how I was a brat during our procession and screwed up the marching order in the auditorium because I really wanted to sit with my friend. I remembered the sheer panic a few months later when, as one of my first tasks at my new job, I was drafted onto the graduation committee and given responsibility for managing THEIR marching order (proof that karma is real and will bite you when you misbehave).
But most importantly, I remembered walking out of that auditorium, scroll in hand, knowing I’d accomplished something incredible. I was only the second person in my family to complete a bachelor’s degree, and three years later I was the first to earn a master’s. Each of those experiences was completely different. Most of my undergrad years were spent commuting from home, so during that time my tummy was thankfully ramen-free and I never worried about bills (outside of my textbooks, anyway – math texts are ridiculously expensive!). Grad school was very different: I’d already moved away from home and to a different state, so I had to work full time during the day and took classes online at night. At the time, the guy who would eventually become my legally-bound life partner was also in grad school full time in day classes, so there were many, many evenings where Stove-Top Stuffing constituted a full out “meal.”
I love how fast and loose we’re playing with the English language this afternoon; let’s keep going!
So there was one thing that remained constant between the two experiences: I remembered how new everything seemed when we walked out of those ceremonies. I wasn’t thinking about how glad I was that the trials and tribulations of the previous years was over; I was thinking about what happens next. Where do we go from here? Not long ago, I had a friend accuse me – rightfully so – of perpetually looking at life as one giant storybook and the people around me as its characters. If you think about it, that’s not far from the truth. Everybody has a story to tell, and if you look closely enough, there are themes that run through so many of our stories – like the pursuit of education, of love, of loss, of what family and friends really mean. There are stories of chasing dreams and chasing dollars, of success and failure. These commonalities are ultimately what bind us together.
What makes this Class of 2015 so special is how the individual stories – the journeys of how we got here – are not common at all. The greatest joy of my work, the reason that I get up every morning and drive across town to the campus and spend my days answering questions and arguing why yes, algebra IS important in day-to-day life, is that I get to watch as each student who comes through our doors makes that journey. I get to see the unique struggles that crop up along the way. I get to be the one to teach them breathing exercises to calm down when the ten-page paper they just finished working on disappears from their flash drive. I get to be the one sitting with them in the parking lot after my shift ends to walk them through dealing with a difficult teammate. I get to be the one who listens to why they started this chapter in the first place, and in the times that they want to quit, I get to be the one to remind them of the reasons why they started.
When they start facing their fears of the unknown, I’m the one who gets to tell them: Be radiant.
Don’t hold back from your dreams. If you want to do something, do it.
Follow through on your commitments and promises, not just to others, but to yourself. And do them when you say you’ll do them.
Work harder than you have to. It makes a difference.
Be kind, always. It also makes a difference.
Do no harm.
There will always be naysayers. Don’t take their negativity to heart. But at the same time, hear them out. They’ll sometimes present a point you haven’t thought of yet.
Learn from everyone around you. If something sparks your interest, read everything about it that you can get your hands on.
And most importantly, remember that you are the star of your own story. You have a lot more power in telling that story than you realize, and you’re only given one chance for sure to try telling it. So make it a good one.
When you look at this graduating class, you see mortar boards and scrolls; I see single dads who went to great lengths to provide for their kids while taking classes to invest in themselves. When you see this graduating class, you see the pomp and circumstance of our bagpipers leading the celebratory parade; I see the tears in the eyes of a 50-something graduate who never thought she’d make it this far. You see the splendor of a historic venue; I see the late nights and early mornings that went into getting us here. The dinners of ramen noodles or Stove-Top stuffing. The transition from a new student saying “seven chapters of reading this week, are you nuts?” to “Hey, that workshop you recommended last week? That was really good. I’m signing up for the next one. I think it’ll help with the business I want to start.”
When you look at this graduating class, what most people see is the end of the story, but it isn’t. Not even close. Which brings us back to my original point: “commencement” is actually the perfect word for this occasion. Because while this chapter of the story may be ending, another one is just beginning.
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