Transition Reflection
6/3/07
Do you ever stop and wonder where the time went and what is next to being?
While being conscious of the ever-rapidly streaming event called time, there
are times when I feel as if I haven’t given it’s due. There are many
recollections of choices made and choices avoided; and intense realizations
subsiding beneath the surface of a nonchalant, casual manner that I have found
myself adapting to. I felt as if it were all a natural progression and that
time would prove positive. I was correct, and after lagging along knowing this
inevitable fact, lazy and self-assured, the ceremonial procession that waited
seemed more like a chore than a celebration. And, I made it to be so, feeling
distant to the event and sitting apathetically in the rain as people sat down
and stood up, clapped and cheered, pointed and gawked, slept, talked on cell
phones, posed for photos (which was bluntly PROHIBITED by the processions
instructions that came with our $30 nylon cap and gowns), and maintained quick
and casual conversations.
But, a photograph lodged in a leather-bound journal I was given after the
ceremony made an epiphany bubble up to the top, bursting into tears front of
family and friends. It was a picture of my sister and I standing in our
hometown high school’s track and field, she had just graduated from middle
school, and I had just graduated high school. Our faces, aged more as a result
of time, looked almost foreign in comparison to this photograph’s faces. But,
regardless of the photo’s possible effectiveness in a “Have You Seen These
People?” campaign, the recognition of a similar epoch four years prior was
overwhelming! I stormed across the room almost blindly towards my sister,
babbling about how special she was to me and embracing her firmly. I had just
graduated from college, and she was about to graduate from high school. To
boot, she would be a student of my new Alma matter, carrying on a symbolic
sense of personal change and transition in thought process. She begged me to
stop crying because she would start to cry too, and consciously attempted to
lower my emotional intensity enough to stop wailing and release her from a
solid bear hug. Love and connection was the fruit of this event, along with a
new appreciation for friends who had been inspirational to me along the way.
Back at the ceremony, some proclaimed their appreciation loudly and clearly.
“THANKS FOR THE MONEY MOM AND DAD!” was screamed more than once above the PA
system’s monotonous drawl of a seemingly unending list of names. “I Love you,
so and so!” was another popular pronouncement. I could have had a small
novel’s worth of names to shout out at the top of my lungs, but I figured that
if I left anyone out they might be bent out of shape. Besides, all the people
I wanted to give thanks to would be in my living room not two hours later.
Patience is a virtue, and provides for a more suitable context for these folks
to get their recognition. Friends, family, and a loved one were all by my
side, and I happily looked them in the eyes and blessed them for their
presence.
One character missing from this story, however, comes in the form a professor
I befriended as a student in the undergraduate program I completed. He is a
radical character in every sense. His three-foot long dreadlocks speak clearly
to this point. I found inspiration in his passionate teachings, as well as his
willingness to listen to his student’s views with an open mind; no matter how
much at odds the ideas came to be. This demeanor gave his students hope that
the college faculty was not full of what Rush Limbaugh would call “ditto
heads.” Every class had vastly different readings and vastly different
messages amongst them, and we delved into dark and unfamiliar territory only
to become more well rounded in thought process and versed in obscure
philosophies. To boot, he had no fear in listening to personal matters and was
more than willing to tell of relevant or similar situations that he had
encountered as a student and human being. He was a teacher, an educator, a
guide, and a friend.
While this situation was extremely personal to me in many ways, there was a
universal recognition of change and all of the adaptations that come with it.
Different institutions, time, and awards separated the photo from our current
situation, but the message was the same: celebrating times of achievement are
never insignificant, realize that people close to you change as well, and they
are advanced as a result. And, while we all played foolish to mock the
ceremony in protest, every soul had the sweet sorrow of letting go and the
hidden fear of the future’s unpredictability. Maybe it took recognizable
triggers or sentimental words, but at some point in time for all those who
participated in the event, there were tears. Be they tears of remorse of joy,
they represent the humanity in all of us robed individuals, who sought dreams
beyond the institution from which we had formed community, identity, and
personal expansion.
