Commencement

com·mence·ment

kəˈmensmənt

noun

1. 1.

   a beginning or start.

     If there was one thing that surprised me about the University of New Hampshire's 146th Commencement, it was that the ceremony reflected the jovial and celebratory mood I was in that day. My brother even had a hard time convincing his co-workers that he had a good time there. Admittedly, most graduations are fairly dreary and dull; too much pomp. Contrary to the title, many think of the commencement ceremonies as a time to celebrate the achievements of the last four years, reminisce on good times, shrug off bad ones, and hug your friends goodbye. I think that the excited atmosphere, full of six packs hidden under robes and crowd surfing mascots and champagne fountains, reflected the true meaning of the event: a celebration to kick off the beginnings of our next steps in life.

     I felt the same electrifying excitement after returning to UNH last fall, following my study abroad experience in New Zealand, and my summer spent at the Hubbard Brook Experimental Forest in NH. My last year at UNH went exponentially faster than my first, and even faster than my years in high school, which my parents have a hard time registering are long behind me. Even still, this past year was jam packed: with swing dancing, working with first-year students as an RA, the arduous process of applying to graduate schools, traveling to visit those schools, and taking some of the hardest courses I've had yet. My journey didn't stop when I came home from NZ, and if anything my personal journey had just begun. In the year since, I've learned so much more about myself, through both triumph and defeat.

   A good friend shared with me a quote by Seth Godin:

Coming and going matter far more than what happens in the middle.

Opening things.

Closing them.

Tearing off the bandage.

Losing something.

Meeting someone new.

Getting on the airplane, getting off of it.

Being greeted.

Elections.

Ending a feud.

We mistakenly spend most of our time thinking about, working on and measuring the in-between parts, imagining that this is the meat of it, the important work. In fact, humans remember the transitions, because it's moments of change and possibility and trepidation that light us up.

     Thinking back to all that has happened in the last four years, and arriving at UNH with a clean slate, I am hopeful about my ability to find community and friendship wherever I go. See the neon blob of marching band freshmen in our class photo back from August of 2012. Reflecting on my time at UNH, the fond memories of the depths of winter are overshadowed by the strength of my memories of arriving back on campus every year and meeting new friends in marching band camp and RA training. The end of my time at UNH did not come with everything tied up in a neat bow. For those friends with whom I'll stay in touch, no doors were closed. On the contrary, in the last year losing some people from my life was a moving and painful experience. In some ways my time at UNH won't really end, and my reflections on that time will continue for years to come.
      I find myself in the same place as four years ago. At the moment that I'm preparing to make the next big step in life and travel out the Michigan for graduate school, I travel back four years to my arrival at UNH, and think of how intimidating and exciting it all was. When others are asking if I'm nervous for this big move, I'm thrilled about the commencement of this part of my life, and all that it will mean for the future of my career, the breadth of my experience in new places and traveling, and for the opportunity to examine myself at this moment of transition.

More to follow on my road trip to Michigan!
-Tyler