Daniel Cucher

Parents. Students. Faculty. I'd like to welcome you all to the graduation ceremony for the class of 2002 and a half. (Wait for applause.)

Most of us began this journey four-and-a-half years ago, in the late summer months of 1998. It was August: hot, humid, dusty. The dorm rooms smelled like new stereo equipment and Ozium, the Mall like fresh grass and fertilizer. The old Student Union was eagerly awaiting its destruction.

Today, that old Student Union lies crushed in a landfill, a million chunks of steel and concrete. One day, this will be all that remains of our college memories. Fragments ÷ brittle and dissociated.

Some of us will spend the rest of our lives trying to preserve these memories. We'll sort through the landfill gathering pieces, or stare deeply into an aluminum can for the recycled remains of "glory days" past. In the midst of an unlived life, we'll remember the good times we spent in Tucson with our friends and lovers, flipping through pictures and trying to relive college one snapshot at a time.

This is to be avoided at all costs. College should be remembered fondly, but without longing. Too many people use their college experience as a reservoir for serotonin-releasing memories. Their lives are unhappy because they never figured out how to move on, how to exist outside the university bubble. They never adapted to change, to take joy out of it. These are the people who tell you that college was the best time of their life. It's sad.

If we have one mission as college graduates, it is to say goodbye. At the very least, it will keep us from staring back and turning into pillars of salt.

Some recent college graduates look like they just fell off the bus. They sit in the street, rubbing their wounds and wondering what fun and exciting city the bus is visiting this week. They wait for another one to come by and rescue them from the side of the road. It's a wonder that they don't stand up and start walking somewhere. Anywhere.

Maybe the problem is that there is no defined destination for many of us. In college, the goals are clear: One semester at a time leads to an eventual graduation. After college, it's a bit more difficult to flow with the current.

What do you want to be when you grow up? It's alarming how many of us aren't quite sure. But what's more distressing is how many of us know what we want to do, but are completely unenthusiastic about it. We were excited to go to college, right? Why can't we now graduate and passionately pursue · something · anything!

There is no reason why life has to slow down after graduation. If it does, it is our own fault for lacking enthusiasm. People always tell college graduates to take a year off and travel or do something completely different: Get a job in a faraway place, learn Swahili. This is good advice, but the year too often stretches into several years, then decades. Eventually, we're fluent in Swahili and managing the coffee shop, but we never wrote that novel or performed open heart surgery on an elephant like we planned.

The eventual fate of all human life is worms and decomposition. Now is our big chance. Sometimes, it helps to remind ourselves that we can go almost anywhere we want and do almost anything we want with our lives. Most of our limitations are actually illusions that we accept upon ourselves willingly, without ever putting up a fight. We must have faith in our ability. We must manifest our own futures before the worms get us.

Our college experience is already in the early stages of decay. Our photographs are stolen images that will one day also fade. What we are left with is an open door.

Congratulations. If you're graduating this winter, you hold a coveted place on the planet among the few people with higher educations. You won the lottery. Cheers! It's a big responsibility.

Now go out there and do good.

And do it passionately.