.memory lane.
...so I'm working on my personal statement right now, and it's giving me a bit of trouble. Not lots of it, but a fair amount. I just want it to be done, and I don't want to work through the process of getting it there.
In an attempt to drum up some inspiration, I looked for the speech that I wrote for commencement. It didn't end up being chosen, which is likely a good thing, given how crazy that weekend ended up being, but it's one of the few things I've written that I've been so very proud of (to a ridiculous extent, yes, but proud nonetheless). I've posted it here just so that I don't end up ever losing it. And, 'cause it's giving me something to do that isn't staring at my half-written, half-brained personal statement. And so...
What has been the most symbolic aspect of Mount Holyoke College for you? What has been so imbued with meaning that it still manages to shake you, to pluck your heartstrings, to create such a profound visceral reaction just at the thought of it? Has it been one of our many traditions, our sense of history, our wonderful and amazingly diverse community of students, or our beautiful campus?
I know that so many of us talk about setting foot on this campus for the first time and just knowing that we belonged here. In my first glimpses of what my life here would be like, I raised my eyes up over the green, over the roof of Blanchard, and up onto Prospect Hill. It is there and everywhere that exist the most symbolic, the most meaningful part of Mount Holyoke College for me-the trees. They have stood by as our not-so-silent companions for the past four years: rustling with the winds of October that convince them to shed their foliage, cracking under the weight of yet another March snow shower, and excitedly and gently sashaying with the breeze today.
The way the trees reveal their colors to us is closely tied to the passage of the seasons we value and cherish so much as New England residents, if only for these past few years, and our evolution as students is closely matched by the revolutions of the earth on its tilted axis that cause our seasons here at Mount Holyoke. When we arrive in the fall, the legendary New England autumn foliage is beginning to show, and I would argue that we arrive much like those trees-you can tell who might be a copper beech and who is most definitely a white pine because of the differences between their harvest colors, when their leaves happen to fall, and how they whisper to you when the wind whips through them. Much like the trees in the fall, when we arrived at Mount Holyoke, we stood in loosely affiliated clumps, each an extremely different individual from the person next to us.
Autumn is always much too quickly followed by snowfall that serves to clothe the bare bones of the newly naked trees. I would say that each one of us have been stripped like those trees at some point in our time here, that we have each had a classroom experience that completely changed our outlook on the world, found a new passion in the form of an extracurricular that forced us to scrap our original life plans for loftier pursuits, or learned an unexpected lesson from a friend while sitting around at M&Cs well past 9:30. At some point, something within each one of us snapped, as one can so easily do with the brittle twigs that exist in winter, and we were each profoundly changed.
When you snap those twigs, as dead and bare as they look outside, there still exists green and hope within. And so, with that inner optimism, we have all arrived at spring. It is now, much in the spirit of our green class color, that we stand together. Looking up Prospect Hill behind me, you see a great mass of green-no longer are some trees ruby red fires and others orange sunsets, but instead they are all one sea of green. On closer inspection, one can certainly tell the differences between the buds of a maple and the needles of a spruce, but I stand here asking you to see the forest for the trees. The branches have begun to intertwine, much as our own loving arms have supported each other these last few years. Their roots are stronger than ever, much as ours are, and while it is extremely painful for each one of us to remove ourselves from this very fertile Mount Holyoke soil, in that pain is the beauty of knowing that it wouldn’t be hurting so much if this whole experience had not meant the world to each one of us.
I know that it doesn’t come as a surprise to those of you who know me that the trees that I admire so much are often green. I have been known to be a little overzealous when acting under the influence of class pride, but something about the class of 2005 makes me want to show the world how easy it is to be green. It is to the color green that we can look for a sign of what our future might hold, what is within ourselves right now. Green has stood for environmental consciousness, fertility, harmony, freshness, and ambition. To the class of 2005, it is no mystery that olive green is the traditional color of peace, and the jealousy that is often associated with the color green can only stand here for how others feel when they look at what awaits us: a group of bright, sensitive, poised, and aware graduates about to take on lives in all the corners of this green earth.
In one of his last books, The Lorax, Dr. Seuss addressed the symbolism and vitality of trees in discussing the Lorax, a wonderful mythological environmentalist character, and his attempt to save the Truffula trees. I would like to leave you all with his final thoughts in that book: ‘Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.’ May you each tend to yourself well, taking care to remember your deep and resilient roots and the forest around you that has helped you to weather every storm, so that we can all come back and continue to grow together. Go into the summer of your life, but never forget that you are green, that you are full of hope and possibility, with a fertile mind and able hands.
In an attempt to drum up some inspiration, I looked for the speech that I wrote for commencement. It didn't end up being chosen, which is likely a good thing, given how crazy that weekend ended up being, but it's one of the few things I've written that I've been so very proud of (to a ridiculous extent, yes, but proud nonetheless). I've posted it here just so that I don't end up ever losing it. And, 'cause it's giving me something to do that isn't staring at my half-written, half-brained personal statement. And so...
What has been the most symbolic aspect of Mount Holyoke College for you? What has been so imbued with meaning that it still manages to shake you, to pluck your heartstrings, to create such a profound visceral reaction just at the thought of it? Has it been one of our many traditions, our sense of history, our wonderful and amazingly diverse community of students, or our beautiful campus?
I know that so many of us talk about setting foot on this campus for the first time and just knowing that we belonged here. In my first glimpses of what my life here would be like, I raised my eyes up over the green, over the roof of Blanchard, and up onto Prospect Hill. It is there and everywhere that exist the most symbolic, the most meaningful part of Mount Holyoke College for me-the trees. They have stood by as our not-so-silent companions for the past four years: rustling with the winds of October that convince them to shed their foliage, cracking under the weight of yet another March snow shower, and excitedly and gently sashaying with the breeze today.
The way the trees reveal their colors to us is closely tied to the passage of the seasons we value and cherish so much as New England residents, if only for these past few years, and our evolution as students is closely matched by the revolutions of the earth on its tilted axis that cause our seasons here at Mount Holyoke. When we arrive in the fall, the legendary New England autumn foliage is beginning to show, and I would argue that we arrive much like those trees-you can tell who might be a copper beech and who is most definitely a white pine because of the differences between their harvest colors, when their leaves happen to fall, and how they whisper to you when the wind whips through them. Much like the trees in the fall, when we arrived at Mount Holyoke, we stood in loosely affiliated clumps, each an extremely different individual from the person next to us.
Autumn is always much too quickly followed by snowfall that serves to clothe the bare bones of the newly naked trees. I would say that each one of us have been stripped like those trees at some point in our time here, that we have each had a classroom experience that completely changed our outlook on the world, found a new passion in the form of an extracurricular that forced us to scrap our original life plans for loftier pursuits, or learned an unexpected lesson from a friend while sitting around at M&Cs well past 9:30. At some point, something within each one of us snapped, as one can so easily do with the brittle twigs that exist in winter, and we were each profoundly changed.
When you snap those twigs, as dead and bare as they look outside, there still exists green and hope within. And so, with that inner optimism, we have all arrived at spring. It is now, much in the spirit of our green class color, that we stand together. Looking up Prospect Hill behind me, you see a great mass of green-no longer are some trees ruby red fires and others orange sunsets, but instead they are all one sea of green. On closer inspection, one can certainly tell the differences between the buds of a maple and the needles of a spruce, but I stand here asking you to see the forest for the trees. The branches have begun to intertwine, much as our own loving arms have supported each other these last few years. Their roots are stronger than ever, much as ours are, and while it is extremely painful for each one of us to remove ourselves from this very fertile Mount Holyoke soil, in that pain is the beauty of knowing that it wouldn’t be hurting so much if this whole experience had not meant the world to each one of us.
I know that it doesn’t come as a surprise to those of you who know me that the trees that I admire so much are often green. I have been known to be a little overzealous when acting under the influence of class pride, but something about the class of 2005 makes me want to show the world how easy it is to be green. It is to the color green that we can look for a sign of what our future might hold, what is within ourselves right now. Green has stood for environmental consciousness, fertility, harmony, freshness, and ambition. To the class of 2005, it is no mystery that olive green is the traditional color of peace, and the jealousy that is often associated with the color green can only stand here for how others feel when they look at what awaits us: a group of bright, sensitive, poised, and aware graduates about to take on lives in all the corners of this green earth.
In one of his last books, The Lorax, Dr. Seuss addressed the symbolism and vitality of trees in discussing the Lorax, a wonderful mythological environmentalist character, and his attempt to save the Truffula trees. I would like to leave you all with his final thoughts in that book: ‘Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.’ May you each tend to yourself well, taking care to remember your deep and resilient roots and the forest around you that has helped you to weather every storm, so that we can all come back and continue to grow together. Go into the summer of your life, but never forget that you are green, that you are full of hope and possibility, with a fertile mind and able hands.