BraceLand

Exactly seven years ago, I was sitting on the field in Boston College’s Alumni Stadium listening to Nicholas Burns (at the time, he was Ambassador to NATO) tell us how we had to grab life by the horns, live without regrets, etc and so on. No offense to Amb. Burns, but it was quite possibly the most miserable day of my life. Aside from the massive withdrawal symptoms I was feeling coming off what can only be described as a week-long bender, I had less than zero clue what I wanted to do with my life. My class of graduates had the good timing of being seniors during the 9/11 attacks, so many of us didn’t have jobs as of 5/23/02; I was one of them. I also felt like just when I was starting to feel comfortable in my own skin and in charge of my life, everything that was stable and that I had control over was yanked out from under me. I didn’t have a place to live; my social life was gutted because all my friends were scattering to the four winds; I didn’t know how I was going to pay rent let alone cover health insurance; and I had to pick a direction. Those eight or so months after graduation were probably the darkest of my entire life.

I eventually found a job, got an apartment, made new friends and settled in to a routine. It’s only now, seven years later, that I can recognize how important those dark times were in putting me where I am, allowing me the perspective I have now, the ability to see that the most good often comes from what seems to be the worst times. I’m starting to fully recognize how important that education was, almost as important as the four years that preceded it.  I even think I might be making progress on that whole picking-a-direction thing.
I’m not sure why this year has me reflecting more than the past six Mays. Some sort of seven-year itch or something. But today I’m finding myself really thinking about those kids waiting for their name to be called so they can walk across that stage, head back to their rooms to pack up the last bits of their stuff, say goodbye to their closest friends, and head out into the numbing terror of the absolute unknown.  I really don’t have any advice for them that’s not going to sound like it’s cliche commencement speech crap that I’m sure they’ve heard 5000 times in the last few months.  Besides, I’m not sure there’s anything anyone could tell them that would make them understand the combination of pain, fear, depression, joy, excitement and hope they’re going to feel over the next few months.  So hard, but so worth it.