The morning of graduation felt surreal. Maybe it was because my convocation was earlier than I ever wake up, or maybe it was because my Young Adult Lit professor lost my final and I knew I still needed to retake it for him (best class ever...not), but whatever it was, I just didn't feel like it was real. Or maybe I felt like it was real, I just didn't feel like it was a big deal. Knowing that nothing is really changing--we're staying in the same house in the same ward, I'm starting back up in the fall, Dave's still working and doing his program--sort of took the excitement out of the day for me. Surprisingly, the emotions I felt were a lot more sadness and sentimentality than excitement.
Anyone who knows me knows that I love school. I love my professors, love literature, love becoming a better writer and thinker with every class, and just love learning overall. My last final was an oral discussion with my American Novel professor and 7 other students from the class. I was almost brought to tears when I was giving my response of what I personally think makes a great novel "great". I was just so sad to think that I may never take another English class again at BYU. I may never again have a professor force me to read something as challenging as Moby Dick, and teach me through the process that dedicating my time and my mind to a difficult novel is well worth the rewards. I guess I'm just grateful I'll be living in Provo for the next 4 years at least where I have BYU's resources at my fingertips. And I'm grateful for e-mail and professors who care about their students enough to respond to their questions or ideas.
I guess this is the part where I thank BYU for all the years of learning it provided me with. So thanks BYU. Thanks for teaching me to decide who I am and stick to it. Thanks for teaching me that "who I am" will probably change as my life and experiences change--and that's okay. Thanks for teaching me that I can do anything I put my mind to. Thanks for helping reinforce my faith in the Gospel through your ridiculous religion classes. Thanks for teaching me how to read--and I mean really read. Thanks for teaching me that hard work goes a lot further than pure talent in this world. Thanks for teaching me that it's more important to be nice than to be smart or the best. Thanks for teaching me that you can learn from anyone at anytime--often when you least expect to be taught. I guess I just want to say thanks for the past four years, BYU. You've been great. Here's to hoping the next two will be just as great.