Jonathan I. Lovett
Leaving the Lesson Factory
When not spent searching for a job, or a ‘paid internship,’ or an unpaid internship, or some sort of online real estate scam, this year has been for me a period of somber drunken reflection. It seems as if leaving college ought to be a time for learning some lessons. Look at this place: there are computers everywhere, books, ivy on the walls; it’s like some kind of Malaysian lesson factory, except we work longer hours. Anyway, I figured, after four years around here, you couldn’t throw a dead cat without at least hitting a moral or a parable or something. Well, I tried. My cat landed on a short story about pancake syrup and a magical hobo.
So, maybe I could talk about the horrors of veal, or the plight of migrant workers. I could share my seven-point plan for a free and democratic Iraq.
These are terrible ideas.
Last night, in a panic, I climbed to the top of Stone Hill in the hopes of being inspired. Beneath ancient constellations, far above the splendor of this our bucolic campus (well, bucolic except for the new Theatre), I sat for hours until stars gave way to pink translucent dawn. The air was crisp. A single tear ran down my cheek.
I’m screwed.
And just as panic gave way to desperation, just as I was near plagiarism despite years of steady adherence to the honor code, something appeared in the mist. Perhaps it’s a deer, I thought, or maybe some other delicious animal of the wilderness.
“Hi there, son,” the deer said, walking upright. But this was no deer.
The stranger grew closer, allowing an inspection of his tattered clothes and carry-all. He stood no less than six feet high on a pair of unmatched shoes. His corduroy pants were patched at the knees and his top hat peeled open like a can of tuna. The man had tied a bandana filled with his belongings to the end of a long wooden stick. He sighed and took a seat beside me.
There we remained at sunrise, in perfect Williams fashion: a student at one end of a log, a mysterious hobo on the other, as he shared his woeful tale:
“I once walked across a stage just like that one down there. And just like you, I was filled with hopes and tacos.” It was like he knew me. ”But some time ago, I lost my way. After graduation I drifted aimlessly, because otherwise it’s just not drifting. I launched an internet start-up called e-Syrup.com. We sold maple syrup online and I was living the dream. Yahoo offered me twenty million but I turned them down to go public. I was gonna ride that pancake train to its final destination which, ironically, turned out to be the Port Authority Bus Terminal.”
“Okay,” I interrupted. “Listen, hobo, I only have five minutes. What’s the point?”
“I took it for granted!” said the stranger, who now spoke not to me, but to the clouds and the mountains, and the campus below. “Everything went downhill for me after graduation. I peaked in college.” The hobo looked back on his time at Middlebury as if in mourning. “I wasn’t ready to leave school. I had no plans, no ambitions, and I only had one major. In college though, I knew what I was. Those years” the hobo said, choking back his hobo tears, “were the best years of my life.”
I turned to offer the stranger a tissue, but he was gone.
Slowly my legs carried me down the trail, my mind rapt in thought. Perhaps in his sad words I might find the lesson I’ve been looking for and really there’s no place to get tacos at this time of the day.
I arrived on campus just as I had four years ago: tired, hungry, and having to pee, and still not really sure of what to make of this place. Even now at graduation, I look around and see the landmarks of memories good and bad, the spots where friendships ended or grew deeper, where professors’ expectations were fulfilled or ignored, the walks to dinner, the late nights, the cheese fries, the problem sets, the homecomings, the gossip, the entries, the study sessions, the kegs, the theses, the e-mails, the lies, the joy, the hurt feelings, the boredom, the excitement, the myriad lessons and experiences that were, for each of us, college.
The hobo looked back on departure from college as the end. It’s not the end. It’s not the beginning. It is what it is.
So let us thank our families, who shaped our views of the world, and thank our professors who made those views more liberal, and enjoy today without worry. For what does it mean to say you peaked in college? Nothing about this place made you great.
There is no final lesson to walk away with today. We’re the same friends and future leaders we were yesterday. After four years of learning, today is a chance to leave lessons aside, if just for a moment, and stamp a memory for memory’s sake. We are graduating and I hope more than anything that our memories of tomorrow are indistinguishable from our memories of yesterday. Thank you and congratulations.
June 6, 2004