We have been driving three days through mostly farmland. By this time I am restlessly scanning the bayou for gators underneath the highway. Next to me in the backseat my roommate Sarah tracks our course on her iPhone. “Look!” she leans over excitedly. “Any minute now… We’re about to hit civilization!”
Immediately three separate contexts come to mind:
First: a dream team (which we are) saving the world from Armageddon, from an apocalypse that will soon obliterate all the world’s major cities—namely, a natural disaster is about to hit civilization. Hard.
The second context is the intended one: after hundreds of miles through American countryside, we will in a matter of minutes be plunged into one of the U.S.’s most vibrant cities, right into the heart of New Orleans. We are literally on the edge of our seats in anticipation of an exciting week of beautiful weather in a beautiful city—our last spring break.
The third thought that comes to mind is: The Class of 2011.
After four years on the Hill, we are preparing ourselves to hit civilization—and fortunately I’m willing to bet we are the dream team earth-savers and not the natural disaster.
Either way, Civilization should get ready for a big impact. In the next few days and weeks, residents of both United States coasts, the Midwest, and cities all over the globe should prepare themselves for incoming St. Olaf graduates.
I asked my classmates to share their greatest accomplishments and their loftiest dreams—suspending disbelief!—and they did, frankly and wholeheartedly. The final list is definitely worth seeing.
My classmates find pride each day in finishing especially difficult math proofs and playing with the St. Olaf Orchestra. They have finished internships in the face of illness. They have planned events commemorating earth-shattering historical moments. They are writers, voyagers, educators, and entrepreneurs. They are proud of what they have done, and proud of what they never dreamed they might do.
And yet they do dream of doing incredible things. Members of the Class of 2011 hope to be good parents, some to adopted children. We plan to start orbit-shifting organizations, to be company presidents and politicians, to be the “best American novelist/screenwriter/photographer.” We want to speak many languages. We will, and I quote, “soar around the world in a leviathanic zeppelin with [our] closest friends, making movies, music, and love as well as gardening in the on-board greenhouse.” We hope to heal, to teach, to serve, to share our gifts and passions with the world—and it would be hard not to do these things after leaving this place with our carefully assembled set of tools.
Because we are most proud of the fact that we have found our passions and sustained them. We are proud to have spent this time with such an incredible group of peers, to have been able to share in their brilliance and hilarity. We believe that we can achieve outrageous things. We want to live well, to treat others well, to do our jobs well. And I have faith that we will.
For now, though, we are here. The senior class, our siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles; our professors, advisors, deans and mentors; our friends. The excitement in these stands has been building for at least four years now. We have spent this time collecting knowledge and skills; memories; relationships; references; stories. Many of us, myself included, have put down roots during our time here at St. Olaf. Some of these roots extend into the soil of the Hill itself; some of them are in particular people or groups of people, and some of them even extend deep into the ground of other countries, as far away as Ghana, Turkey, Norway, or Australia.
Wherever I am, I always look for excuses to start a party. I love to celebrate life whenever and however I can, whether that means throwing colored powder on my friends during the Hindu festival of Holi or dancing on a street in New Orleans. On one occasion, my family converted our house into a swanky jazz club and served three different kinds of cheesecake. Another time, toward the end of a particularly depressing January, I joked to my dad about building a beach inside our house for a mood-lifting midwinter luau. The next day he burst in from a trip to Home Depot with 1500 pounds of sand and told my friends and me to dump it all out on the floor.
My dad didn’t bring any sand today, and I’m sorry to say he won’t be offering you all your choice of cheesecake. It’s not because he thinks this event is not worthy of celebration, but today merits a different kind of party, mostly made of hugs, handshakes, and clicking cameras. Besides, it would take a lot more sand and a lot more cheesecake to satisfy this many people…
Fortunately there are more people gathered here today than there are pounds in 30 bags of sand; and the experiences we bring with us are richer than any flavor of cheesecake. We deserve to be celebrated, because we are extraordinary. We have done and will continue to do extraordinary things. We will continue to celebrate our accomplishments, our milestones, our everyday beautiful moments. The world unfolds before us, and we can hardly wait to unfold ourselves upon the world. Starting NOW.
Immediately three separate contexts come to mind:
First: a dream team (which we are) saving the world from Armageddon, from an apocalypse that will soon obliterate all the world’s major cities—namely, a natural disaster is about to hit civilization. Hard.
The second context is the intended one: after hundreds of miles through American countryside, we will in a matter of minutes be plunged into one of the U.S.’s most vibrant cities, right into the heart of New Orleans. We are literally on the edge of our seats in anticipation of an exciting week of beautiful weather in a beautiful city—our last spring break.
The third thought that comes to mind is: The Class of 2011.
After four years on the Hill, we are preparing ourselves to hit civilization—and fortunately I’m willing to bet we are the dream team earth-savers and not the natural disaster.
Either way, Civilization should get ready for a big impact. In the next few days and weeks, residents of both United States coasts, the Midwest, and cities all over the globe should prepare themselves for incoming St. Olaf graduates.
I asked my classmates to share their greatest accomplishments and their loftiest dreams—suspending disbelief!—and they did, frankly and wholeheartedly. The final list is definitely worth seeing.
My classmates find pride each day in finishing especially difficult math proofs and playing with the St. Olaf Orchestra. They have finished internships in the face of illness. They have planned events commemorating earth-shattering historical moments. They are writers, voyagers, educators, and entrepreneurs. They are proud of what they have done, and proud of what they never dreamed they might do.
And yet they do dream of doing incredible things. Members of the Class of 2011 hope to be good parents, some to adopted children. We plan to start orbit-shifting organizations, to be company presidents and politicians, to be the “best American novelist/screenwriter/photographer.” We want to speak many languages. We will, and I quote, “soar around the world in a leviathanic zeppelin with [our] closest friends, making movies, music, and love as well as gardening in the on-board greenhouse.” We hope to heal, to teach, to serve, to share our gifts and passions with the world—and it would be hard not to do these things after leaving this place with our carefully assembled set of tools.
Because we are most proud of the fact that we have found our passions and sustained them. We are proud to have spent this time with such an incredible group of peers, to have been able to share in their brilliance and hilarity. We believe that we can achieve outrageous things. We want to live well, to treat others well, to do our jobs well. And I have faith that we will.
For now, though, we are here. The senior class, our siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles; our professors, advisors, deans and mentors; our friends. The excitement in these stands has been building for at least four years now. We have spent this time collecting knowledge and skills; memories; relationships; references; stories. Many of us, myself included, have put down roots during our time here at St. Olaf. Some of these roots extend into the soil of the Hill itself; some of them are in particular people or groups of people, and some of them even extend deep into the ground of other countries, as far away as Ghana, Turkey, Norway, or Australia.
Wherever I am, I always look for excuses to start a party. I love to celebrate life whenever and however I can, whether that means throwing colored powder on my friends during the Hindu festival of Holi or dancing on a street in New Orleans. On one occasion, my family converted our house into a swanky jazz club and served three different kinds of cheesecake. Another time, toward the end of a particularly depressing January, I joked to my dad about building a beach inside our house for a mood-lifting midwinter luau. The next day he burst in from a trip to Home Depot with 1500 pounds of sand and told my friends and me to dump it all out on the floor.
My dad didn’t bring any sand today, and I’m sorry to say he won’t be offering you all your choice of cheesecake. It’s not because he thinks this event is not worthy of celebration, but today merits a different kind of party, mostly made of hugs, handshakes, and clicking cameras. Besides, it would take a lot more sand and a lot more cheesecake to satisfy this many people…
Fortunately there are more people gathered here today than there are pounds in 30 bags of sand; and the experiences we bring with us are richer than any flavor of cheesecake. We deserve to be celebrated, because we are extraordinary. We have done and will continue to do extraordinary things. We will continue to celebrate our accomplishments, our milestones, our everyday beautiful moments. The world unfolds before us, and we can hardly wait to unfold ourselves upon the world. Starting NOW.