One Last Walk

I strolled onto Pace University’s main campus. It had been months since I’d made this trip, and it took me a second to remember where the elevators were located. Down, down, deep into the tombs of New York concrete we went. I’m always amazed by how much of this city is underground (or 40 floors up in the atmosphere).

I dodged a Herff Jones salesman, and filled out some graduate survey without remembering my student number. It was a busy day at the office, and I’m always my most exhausted right after work. So I wondered over to the Publishing table with a look probably best described as “zoned out.” Grabbing my robe (which apparently I must return!?) and picking up tickets were just errands to scratch off a to-do list.

But then I remembered: This will be the last and final graduation of my academic career. There is no more education to come; no more certificates to be earned.

I’m finally done with school.

What a bittersweet relationship we had! All nighters, term papers, thesis projects equivalent to that of a doctorial… yet still, I have a twisted sort of love for the challenge and thrill of learning. No, not regurgitating random Twitter feeds of knowledge. Actual learning, where your teacher says a fact that builds off of a detail you’ve already memorized, which suddenly makes sense with the way you process the world.

Then again, I know it’s time to be done. I’ve recognized this feeling of completion for the last semester or so. The real world beckons, and it's practically beating down my door.

Oh and by the way….

Alohomora.

These graduation robes are horrendous. I mean, this is Harry Potter material right here. What am I wearing? The Sorting Hat? No, just a cap that’s too big with a winged robe.

And you know my parents will take pictures. LOTS of pictures. Thus this Harry Potter moment will live on in infamy, through Facebook and probably some Christmas card.

At least my department’s color is crimson.

I always knew I was a Gryffindor. 

One Last Walk