Farewell Hollins Home

Exactly twelve hours ago, I graduated summa cum laude, second in my class, from Hollins University, a place which has held my heart since the age of thirteen.  The ceremony was the culmination of four years of so much work that it makes me tired just thinking about it all--classes, study abroad, work and internships and personal projects, all contained within the metaphorical walls of a very sheltering place.  Hollins is a small women’s college, and it becomes home to those who spend any more than a week there.  The people there are open-minded and bright-hearted, and the women who are grown there truly do become sisters to one another.

I have so many lovely memories of that place.  In the past week, everything I looked at was something precious, because something special happened there.  My roommate of four years and I lived in three of the dormitories and made fun of the others.  I worked in the library, took classes in Pleasants, Turner, Dana, and the VAC, and practically lived in the music building.  We were constantly criticizing the food in the dining hall.  More than just the buildings, though, were the little things, the random memories that I prize most of all.  Jumping atop the three-foot wall outside the dining hall to play tightrope, talking about climbing the old silo, hiding in the secret entrance to the music hall to cry alone at midnight…  These memories, these things that I saw every day, are the mark of a place which was my home, one that I deeply love.

But today it was different.  Today, as I was making my final walk out to the car, I looked around and I saw just a place.  A beautiful place, of course, with the classic brick buildings, smooth curving walks and brilliant green grass and trees everywhere.  But just a place.  For those few moments, I looked at Hollins and I saw it as I did at age thirteen, when I first came onto campus—a strange, lovely school with a great deal of potential.  And I realized that Hollins doesn’t belong to me anymore.  Or better, I don’t belong to it.

It was a strangely reassuring concept, proving that I am ready to move on to greater things.  I will always find a home at Hollins, but it will not hold me back from the life I build on my own.  The wonderful things about Hollins were never in the walks or the ways, but in the people I met and the changes they made in me.  And those things, I take with me.  So I am not afraid or sad to leave my magnificent school behind me.  What I gave to it will remain, and what it gave to me will give me strength and courage wherever I go.  That is a gift beyond price.

How to Run a Life

I went out to lunch with two of my good friends, both of whom will be graduating college with me in a few days.  It was a bit of a surreal experience.  All three of us have completed final exams and projects, theses, theatre productions, dance performances, all behind us.  So the conversation did not revolve around our school lives.  Instead, we were three adult women, talking about life in general—“real life” as we called it, life which involves taxes, credit reports, jobs, separation from family and choices based solely upon one’s own desires.  Isn’t that terrifying?

It’s funny how we learn to judge adulthood.  As children, we think that “grown-ups” are the ones who have everything together.  They have all the answers, all the plans and ideas and reassurances.  What a laugh that is!  Then as a teenager moving into college, we begin to think that we are adults, that by choosing a school and moving out on our own, we are making our own choices and running our own lives.  But a life is a complicated machine, and it takes more to run one than staying up all night, eating junk food, and deciding to go to class for once.  College isn’t really a choice anymore: in this society, it’s an expectation.  And thinking back, there was really ever only one college that I chose to apply for myself; the rest were my father’s idea.  Going to college is a big step, yes, but it’s still safe. 

Leaving college, on the other hand, is stepping off a damn cliff.  There are no safety nets—parents are expected to cut you off at this point, and suddenly no one is able to tell you what to do.  There is so little helpful advice for those of us at this point in our lives, because no one in the world knows better than you do what is going to make you happy.  Here is the point where we begin to put our education to the test and, unfortunately, begin to see where it fell short.  How do I get a good credit score?  What do you mean, year-long lease?  And no, I haven’t actually balanced my checkbook this month. 

With all this hanging over our heads, our lunch date was a bit less buoyant than others have been in the past.  But looking at my fellow graduates-to-be, I couldn’t help but think that we will all be fine.  The best way to learn how to do something is to do it, right?  And hard and cold as it might be, life itself is an excellent teacher.  So in three days, I will take that step off the edge, and whether I crash or whether I build a parachute out of my socks is up to me.  Either way, I’ll learn from my mistakes and be better prepared for the next step, and the next and the next.

Think Before Speaking: Spice Up Your Vocabulary

English is a bewildering language.  On the one hand, it’s got enough rules to make you dizzy, and once you get around those, there are at least half as many exceptions to the rules.  But on the other hand, the language is always growing and changing, picking up new words every day—from other languages, from technology or the internet, or just from people’s minds.  Over the past few months, I’ve been collecting a list of words I would like to add to my vocabulary, and I would like to share them with you.  If you have any you'd like to add to the list, I'd love to hear them!

Fussbudget and its companion, flutterbudget, both nouns.  I picked these up from friends.  They mean people who are uncommonly nervous or anxious, or, in the case of fussbudget, nosy.  Someday I will have a pair of dogs, dubbed the Budget twins, Fuss and Flutter.   

Hippopotamic, adj.  Used in the 1987 film The Princess Bride as one of Vizzini’s terms of endearment for Fezzic.  Meaning large, bulky, taking up too much space, with a connotation of lazy, slow, fat.  Because sometimes there just aren’t enough words to describe bigness.

Pookie, adj.  Used by my father.  Describes a feeling of listlessness, sadness, perhaps even mild illness.  General “got-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-bed” feeling.

Ah shidanza! int.  Used in the 2009 film The Princess and the Frog by the warty prince himself.  Simply an exclamation of excitement or amazement.  One of those that’s just really fun to say.

Scuzzy, adj.  Used by my roommate, Taylor Hodge.  Describes something grimy or otherwise suspiciously unhygienic.  I also picked up the word “sketchy/sketch” from her, which has a similar meaning.

Bangorang, int.  Used in the 1991 film Hook.  Because I’m a Lost Boy at heart.

Hoopla, noun.  Not sure where I heard this first—it’s used pretty frequently.  A good word to describe an exciting or messy situation.  And again, fun to say.

Coo coo k’choo, int.  Used in the 2003 film Finding Nemo, though I’m not entirely sure if that was its first usage.  In the film, it was used to express mild amazement at how quickly time passes.  “Ah, it’s awesome, Jellyman.”