Commencement
I got up earlier than I generally like today and shambled over to the huge tent they have erected on the library lawn, found vikki and proceeded to comment with each passing speaker how much commencement at Hampshire sounds like a public television/radio program (in a really fantastic way). Following the ceremony, I met some people I do not know and I ate some yummy local food. And now, as the jazz and the celebration outside continues to float through the slit of my open window, I settle down to pack. And I reflect. And I begin to realize that this year has meant far too much to me to sum up in a few words. It feels like both a thousand lifetimes and the blink of an eye since I left home for the first time. Sometimes I feel I'm a world away from my former life, and sometimes it seems only the two hour drive that it actually is.
And I wonder at those people who can just drop it all and come back home. The people who return summer after summer to Rhode Island and resume thier lives as if nothing has changed. Don't get me wrong, I think that's beautiful---but it's something that I could never do now. For the short time that I was home, when I resumed old acquaintances it felt more like I was beginning a new friendship than renewing an old one. That the old me was shed like old snake skin, and something fresher but wiser, more vibrant and, yes, more cynical has wriggled up from underneath. But I realize that that is mostly internal---it's not something you're going to notice unless you squint your eyes and look hard, or listen carefully when I speak. I'm not even sure what it is that you're looking for, but I know it is there, because I can feel it down between my ribs, in my feet when I walk, my knees when I sit.
That is what this year has meant to me.
So, to the people at home: I love you. I always will. I am only me because you shaped me, and I wont forget it. But, please, I would love for you to come meet who I have become. Hell, I like him. I hope you do too.
To the people I have not yet met: It is time. Come and call, I will listen. I am waiting for you to show me the world and all the new things that I can be.
And I wonder at those people who can just drop it all and come back home. The people who return summer after summer to Rhode Island and resume thier lives as if nothing has changed. Don't get me wrong, I think that's beautiful---but it's something that I could never do now. For the short time that I was home, when I resumed old acquaintances it felt more like I was beginning a new friendship than renewing an old one. That the old me was shed like old snake skin, and something fresher but wiser, more vibrant and, yes, more cynical has wriggled up from underneath. But I realize that that is mostly internal---it's not something you're going to notice unless you squint your eyes and look hard, or listen carefully when I speak. I'm not even sure what it is that you're looking for, but I know it is there, because I can feel it down between my ribs, in my feet when I walk, my knees when I sit.
That is what this year has meant to me.
So, to the people at home: I love you. I always will. I am only me because you shaped me, and I wont forget it. But, please, I would love for you to come meet who I have become. Hell, I like him. I hope you do too.
To the people I have not yet met: It is time. Come and call, I will listen. I am waiting for you to show me the world and all the new things that I can be.
posted by dan | 1:49 PM
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