Two Saturdays ago, as my roommate and I lay on the roof of my house on Gordon Avenue planning out our afternoon activities, my roommate asked to see my phone. Stretching out our limbs so that the slanted sun would catch and hold to our skin, I laughed at a picture my mother had just texted me. It was a picture of an essay I’d written for class in fifth grade. I was mainly focused on the line that I had written as a shy 10-year-old girl about the farm of golden retrievers that I wanted to own when I “grew up.”
“Let me read the whole thing!” my roommate urged. She quickly read through my feeble attempts at expression, then passed me my phone. “Well, it sounds just like you,” she said. As I read through my last paragraph, one crafted by an eager and overly imaginative child, I knew that it did.
“I have wonderful friends. Four at school and four not at school. Those are my closest. We have wonderful times together. We are on the happy side of the scale.”
Eleven years later, I think I have returned to the simple hopes and fascinations of my 10-year-old self. My friends and I are on the happy side of the scale; we exist as best we can. I still want to own a farm full of golden retrievers whenever I choose to “grow up.” I have friends who I love more than I thought I could, friends I would call my “closest.” And we have wonderful times together.
I could not have achieved this happiness anywhere else, with anyone else, at any other time in the world. Of this I am certain. I’ve learned a few things in my four years here, lessons which have taken me from the difficult to the beautiful. Lessons which I will try to share with you.
Firstly, words may contain the whole world. You can scream or cry or whisper words to someone which they will never ever forget. Choose your words carefully. I’ve fallen in love with people for their words, and I’ve run, tripping, stumbling, confused, headed blindly in the other direction because of words. Actions may speak louder, but sometimes, it is the simple utterances which cannot be forgotten.
No one will ever matter as much as the people who listen to your stories. The people who will put down their phones and close their computers to listen to your tale — whether it be funny, humiliating or boring — are the people who love you back. They are few and far between, but they matter. And they deserve your time as much as you deserve theirs. Treat these people like they matter more than the background noise, more than the worries and questions simmering beneath the surface. Simply pay attention. It is something you cannot fake, something you will never be able to take back or replace.
Ruin and revel in your weekends. Eat too much, make grand plans and then nap. Hate Sundays. Loathe them. Panic as you realize you’ve left all of your work for the last minute. Do something out of the ordinary on Saturdays even though your body is in revolt.
Say things with certainty and finality if you really care. Don’t throw around random opinions just to get a reaction. Be kind. Cringe when you see something horrible or taste something awful or feel something you cannot explain. Let your face tell all. There’s nothing you will show to the world that it cannot handle. Even if you feel you cannot handle it yourself.
Put yourself on the happy side of the scale. It is not easy, or simple, but in my final words — words which I hope will contain even a fraction of the truth about the world — I urge you to hold tightly to everything that glistens, and let go of everything that does not. Because in our Final Exercises, we all deserve the world.
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