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I stand in front of you today having accomplished something that I would have never thought possible six years ago. If you had found me in the afternoon as I was unloading lobsters after another long day on the water and said to me, "In six years you will be standing on a podium about to receive a college diploma," I would have laughed at you, just before slinging another full crate on the rail.
Even in the last few months, I had nervous lingering doubts about my ability to finish in time. The last gust of wind that carried me through to this point came on a sunny Thursday afternoon. Rich Borden and I met on the path to Witchcliff, and as he took my human ecology essay and signed it on my right shoulder blade I was able to see that this moment was fully in my grasp. This was a right of passage I had seen and dreamed of in my years here, as if he, with his pen, somehow had the ability to lift the weight, for just a moment, by applying a slight pressure.
In the last few weeks and months we have been losing both sleep and hair (some more than others) as we stress about what still needs to be done. We sit in front of you now thinking of what it is that we will do with our lives and our degree. I fear that in the bustle of the last few months we have been so worried with what we needed to do and what we are going to do later that we have forgotten to think about what we have done. Together we sixty-six represent eleven different countries and twenty-two states.
In the past four years we have traveled to places like Uganda, India, Bolivia and Madagascar. We have presented at dozens of conferences in this country and abroad, and we have been involved in countless projects ranging from educational workshops at Beech Hill Farm to applying our knowledge to antiretroviral drug distribution systems worldwide. And we sit in front of you today as philosophers and musicians, poets and painters, geneticist and future vets, but most importantly as people-people who, despite our academic distinctions, can discuss the intricacies of our interests and will forever be connected through this small town and unique institution.
We have laughed and joked about the COA motto, "Life changing, World changing," and yet, we have changed the world. Little bit by little bit, with one project or another we have brought our knowledge, our influence, our experiences to the far reaches of the world. We may not feel particularly changed ourselves, but I ask my fellow classmates to, for just a moment, think back to who they were and what was important to them before they first came to this place. Think back to your OOPS (Outdoor Orientation PS) trip, if you had the pleasure to go on one, and to what went on, to the stories that you told and that were told to you as you sat around the campfire with those unfamiliar people who are now your family. Remember yourself as you were before, and think of who you are now.
So here I am sharing the stage with these sixty-six wonderful people about to head out into the world with full minds, eager hands and sadly empty pockets. Some of us will return home, some will continue on to further education, and some may never use their diploma for more than a place holder on their wall, yet all of us will never forget this place and what it has done to change our lives and our worlds.
As we sit in these front rows eagerly awaiting that moment when our name is called and we, full of butterflies, can take to the stage and receive the last four years of our lives eloquently bound in a leather packet - or a free range, soy-based fully recyclable alternative - it is important for us, and all of you as well, to remember that every day is the first day of the rest of our lives.
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