When I was a senior in high school, I spent a great deal of time sitting up late at night, scribbling my thoughts into notebooks and mulling over the pros and cons of attending college. I was skeptical and resentful of a system that encouraged the following: spend money you dont have, leave behind everything you love and understand, and strain to obtain a piece of paper that informs the uninviting professional world of your ability to jump through tedious academic hoops. I wanted no part of this. I had access to the internet and a voracious hunger for knowledge; I wanted to be a writer, a philosopher, an artist – what could college offer me that I couldnt offer myself? I was asking myself this same question the first day of freshman year when I walked into the single bedroom that I would now be sharing with three strangers. I remember that first night, up on my top bunk, staring at the ceiling and wondering if those three strange girls were having just as much difficulty sleeping in that 100 degree room as I was. Eventually that nightmarish heat wave broke, the leaves fell, and the loneliness and uncertainty that had clouded my mind for those first few weeks fell away to reveal a sense of excitement and complacency that has stuck with me for the past four years. Those three strangers became three of my greatest friends – that hot, crowded room became a symbol of friendship and new beginnings. The semesters turned into years, and the number of inviting, familiar faces grew on that beautiful campus, a home that I have now left behind. I was wrong to think that college had nothing to offer me but debt, distractions, and bureaucratic red tape – but the most valuable things that I learned were not taught to me in the classrooms. They were taught to me while sitting on the docks at sunset by the river, or while walking on the train tracks late at night under the stars. They were taught to me in crowded bars and closing dining halls, on gross common room couches and in vomit-splattered bathroom stalls. I learned from the people that I hugged and held through the hard times, and through the late-night conversations about the fears and hopes that we shared. I learned that, most importantly, it is love and friendship and laughter that make everything we do worth doing. It’s not academic or professional success, it’s not about status, it’s not about stuff. I was told that I needed to get a college degree so that I could make a lot of money and make a name for myself - but thats not what I wanted out of this, and I like to think that I got something more. Throughout the course of my college experience, my cynical, self-serving dreams were replaced with goals that involved passing on my love of the natural world to future generations, and inspiring in others a passion for protecting and understanding the planet that we all share – because the money doesnt matter, and the debt was well worth the memories. So, I guess I am a “bachelor of science” now. Whatever the hell that means. But when I walked off that graduation stage, that wasnt what I was most proud of. To all of you that made the passing of these past four years worth crying over: I love you. Thank you.
Posted on: Sun, 25 May 2014 23:17:29 +0000
Trending Topics
© 2015