Graduation Uniforms Are Weird
On Saturday I’m going to take a walk that was six years in coming. I was discussing the uniforms with a friend of mine during class last week. “What’s with those hats?” he asked me. What is with the entire getup, I thought. Some people spend the better part of their early adult years in school and in the end you get to dress up like an acolyte at a funeral. And those hats. At least if anyone needs an instant human column we are prepared… you know, like if a building is falling or something. My friend suggested that the hats should have solar cells on them that could power our hover boots. He has such great ideas.
Just a moment ago I put on my robe to see if it would fit. And I realized that I’m actually doing it. I struggled so much at first, I even had to leave school twice. But there I was in the mirror, dressed in regalia befitting a garish magistrate. And I could not feel more joy. It’s not that I have had any doubts in recent years that I would see this day, it’s that the achievement itself comforts residual pain from a period when I did doubt myself. I feel as though my accomplishment somehow transcends time and becomes tangible to me when I was at my lowest.
This morning I called Wake Forest Medical School to see if I’m still on their waitlist. It reminded me very much of asking out a girl for a date but only to have her reply saying “I already have a boyfriend, I’m sorry, but there is a lot of movement for me this time of the year so you should call back next week to see if I’m available.” I was hoping to have a greater insight on my future during graduation day but for some reason having my future in limbo is allowing me to take greater pleasure in my accomplishment. Because I am unable to think about my next task I can freely enjoy the completion of my last one.
When I came back to school after leaving the second time I was determined to give it my best effort. I didn’t really have an option if I wanted to keep my dream of medical school alive. So it was with a significant amount of despair that I again found myself struggling to stay focused on school. Somehow I made it through the year but with grades that would not make up for my previous missteps. It left me with a lot to think about during the summer before my junior year. I was supposed to take the MCAT the following year but how could I even think about medical school if I couldn’t even properly apply myself in undergrad?
I do not believe that it is we who shape our experiences nor do I believe that our experiences shape us but instead I believe that life is a cooperative journey in growth contingent on the mental posture of the individual during each experience that they encounter. An unchoreographed dance whose capricious nature gives no clues about where it might be headed but only guarantees that neither will be the same before the dance has ended. I’m certainly not waltzing my way into the future but it brings me comfort that my present stumbling will somehow change me in spite of its awkward visage.
I began my Junior year determined to make the most of every minute. I decided that this would be the year that would determine whether I could continue to strive for my dream of becoming a doctor. I entitled the semester “The semester of my revenge” because I wanted to kick school around just as it had kicked me during previous years. And the effort I put forth combined with the experience itself changed me. When I received an award that spring for outstanding student in Organic Chemistry I didn’t feel like that award merely represented my achievement in a single class but instead represented a new maturity that would help me throughout the rest of my life.
In the same way when I pick up my diploma tomorrow I don’t feel that it merely represents the completion of the work I’ve been doing over the past six years but instead it signifies that though I am the same person who left college during his first semester my maturity now eclipses my initial failure. My dance with school has changed me. And afterwards, when I take off my peculiar outfit, a part of me will still be wearing it. Maybe it’s because they let us keep the hats. At least now I don’t have to buy a new umbrella.
Just a moment ago I put on my robe to see if it would fit. And I realized that I’m actually doing it. I struggled so much at first, I even had to leave school twice. But there I was in the mirror, dressed in regalia befitting a garish magistrate. And I could not feel more joy. It’s not that I have had any doubts in recent years that I would see this day, it’s that the achievement itself comforts residual pain from a period when I did doubt myself. I feel as though my accomplishment somehow transcends time and becomes tangible to me when I was at my lowest.
This morning I called Wake Forest Medical School to see if I’m still on their waitlist. It reminded me very much of asking out a girl for a date but only to have her reply saying “I already have a boyfriend, I’m sorry, but there is a lot of movement for me this time of the year so you should call back next week to see if I’m available.” I was hoping to have a greater insight on my future during graduation day but for some reason having my future in limbo is allowing me to take greater pleasure in my accomplishment. Because I am unable to think about my next task I can freely enjoy the completion of my last one.
When I came back to school after leaving the second time I was determined to give it my best effort. I didn’t really have an option if I wanted to keep my dream of medical school alive. So it was with a significant amount of despair that I again found myself struggling to stay focused on school. Somehow I made it through the year but with grades that would not make up for my previous missteps. It left me with a lot to think about during the summer before my junior year. I was supposed to take the MCAT the following year but how could I even think about medical school if I couldn’t even properly apply myself in undergrad?
I do not believe that it is we who shape our experiences nor do I believe that our experiences shape us but instead I believe that life is a cooperative journey in growth contingent on the mental posture of the individual during each experience that they encounter. An unchoreographed dance whose capricious nature gives no clues about where it might be headed but only guarantees that neither will be the same before the dance has ended. I’m certainly not waltzing my way into the future but it brings me comfort that my present stumbling will somehow change me in spite of its awkward visage.
I began my Junior year determined to make the most of every minute. I decided that this would be the year that would determine whether I could continue to strive for my dream of becoming a doctor. I entitled the semester “The semester of my revenge” because I wanted to kick school around just as it had kicked me during previous years. And the effort I put forth combined with the experience itself changed me. When I received an award that spring for outstanding student in Organic Chemistry I didn’t feel like that award merely represented my achievement in a single class but instead represented a new maturity that would help me throughout the rest of my life.
In the same way when I pick up my diploma tomorrow I don’t feel that it merely represents the completion of the work I’ve been doing over the past six years but instead it signifies that though I am the same person who left college during his first semester my maturity now eclipses my initial failure. My dance with school has changed me. And afterwards, when I take off my peculiar outfit, a part of me will still be wearing it. Maybe it’s because they let us keep the hats. At least now I don’t have to buy a new umbrella.