I've kind of actively avoided blogging about graduation because what do you say? There's enormous accomplishment but there's also an entire swath of your life that's over. And if you had told my freshman year self that she would be feeling this way at the end of her four years she would have looked at you like you were crazy. She was just there to take classes and get it over with.
Somewhere along the line, things changed, and I think it began with painting nails and watching Whose Line Is It Anyway with Roommate J. Then there was painting nails and waiting for the all-clear to sound with HaHa. Or...not painting nails, actually, and going in an oddly color-coordinated foursome to buy ice cream with all my froomies.
I wrote my Junior Year fall independent work on Tales of the City, which is all about the families you choose. By senior year the froomies and I had fallen into (and laughingly constructed) a 50s nuclear family dynamic (complete with entertaining skeletons in the closet): I was the dad (bug-killing, with a British man named Julian on the side), CC was the mom (frequently absentee and baked-goods-providing), HaHa was the oldest daughter (aloof, patient, a woman of mystery), and Roommate J was the baby.
Another major theme of Tales of the City: "Mona used to say that she could get by just fine without a lover as long as she had five good friends."
Any way you slice it, I had family by my side at graduation, and they weren't just the two people snapping pictures, related to me. (Although while we're on that subject, I made it my personal mission to see how many times I could get the de Plume waterworks flowing over the course of the three-day extravaganza and I think I set a personal record.)
Other things that happened that made it difficult to leave Princeton: I had access to a car for a total of four semesters and with it I was able to feel more at home in the wider community than I had before; I saw the sun rising and setting over fields on Quaker Road that became my favorite Princeton view; I went to prison, and it changed my life; I wrote a triumphant thesis and did original work; I started to come up with my own, practical definition of the humanities (working manifesto title: The Universal in the Particular--and would you really want to live in a world without them?); I cried when Shirley Tilghman told my class to make service and education their mission since it might just be mine; I learned how to stop being a rockstar and how to become a BAMF instead; I won the first of several bets; I made playlists, organized trips, and became a road warrior; I developed a fashion sense; I started a Christmas card recipient list; I learned how to disagree; I began compiling a list of role models; I ate Olives cookies; I ogled hot grad students (although, hello, Chicago!); I attended free midnight movies; I got taken down a peg and raised up three; I discovered the addictive properties of being a small fish in a big pond for the first time in my life; I fell into the NYC honey trap; I had my teapot confiscated freshman year and I still want it back.
Were they the best four years of my life? How can I possibly answer that? Probably not, and that's as it should be. To continue my Tales of the City thread, I think I'll agree with Mrs. Madrigal and say that my favorite year hasn't happened yet. These were a great four years, though, and they exceeded almost every expectation I had. Thank you, CC. Thank you, HaHa. Thank YOU, Roommate J. And thank you, Princeton.