|
|
Anita Tien's speech to the senior class
Alumnae Association Senior Lunch
26 May 1999
copyright © 1999 Anita Tien
I've been looking forward to this week for a long
time: it's been quite a journey, and I feel very lucky to
have shared part of it with you, through your private
victories and public triumphs. The President's office often
calls down the hall to ask the class deans, "What is your
class like?" I always have a hard time answering the
question--I think more about your individual personalities
than your collective one--but it is easy to say this: You
are an exceptional class--passionate, warm, caring,
empathetic. Everyone who has worked with you says so.
Soon after I became your dean, in your sophomore year,
I was told that my responsibilities included giving a speech
during commencement week. You know me: almost immediately
I began thinking about what I might say. That fall I
imagined I might talk about the puzzle outside my office,
the one entitled "The Secrets of Life," but now, of course,
we know how that turned out: in Green Hall, at least, there
are no Secrets of Life.
That spring, we dedicated the class of '99 tree. I
don't imagine many here will remember this: only seven of
you were there. It was a nasty April day, cold and rainy.
We'd been told that the tree was by the chapel, so we
squished around the Chapel lawn until we found the tree that
had been newly planted between this tent and the Founders
parking lot. We shifted our weight from one foot to the
other to keep ourselves from sinking into the ground.
After a few words, we weren't sure what else to do. Someone
suggested that we sing "America the Beautiful," which we
did, a little self-consciously. (There is nothing like
warbling "America the Beautiful" in an uncertain alto, next
to the president of the College, to make you
self-conscious.) The next day I got a very nice thank-you
e-mail from the class president. She expressed gracious
appreciation, and then, almost as an afterthought, ever so
casually, she added: "By the way, I found out that we were
at the wrong tree."
Now this is good material, and I've been saving it
ever since for today. You might think that I would turn the
story into a metaphor for your sophomore year in general.
But there are other images I like: the way we wandered
through the mist towards one another; the loose circle we
formed, not around the tree, but slightly off-center; and of
course our ode to the wrong tree. To me these images speak
to the strengths of the class of 1999: your connections to
one another; your independent, slightly off-beat spirit; and
most of all, your ability to consecrate the ordinary, to
make it special.
This is a special week, when we celebrate your
achievements--and they are indeed many. Wellesley isn't
easy. I have seen over and over again how hard you work,
how much your professors ask of you, and how high your own
expectations are, for yourselves and one another, both in
terms of intellectual development and personal conduct. I
think this was what impressed me most this spring during the
Ruhlman conference, at sessions where you spoke sensitively
and intelligently, and your friends gathered in the audience
not just to hear and support and applaud you (although they
did all of those things), but to learn and ask really smart
questions, too. You never pass by an opportunity to pick
something up. Despite the slight chill in the air, the day
felt warm; it was erudite and civic and surpassingly
festive.
Easily, one of the charms of Wellesley is that public
events such as the Ruhlman and commencement are observed
with such style and delight. But for my money, these high
points are not any more special than the private moments of
days that the rest of the world found quite ordinary. Those
were the days that you infused with your own extraordinary
spirit. You got sick, or hit a rough patch. Your
family--or a close friend--needed you, and you put your own
life aside for a while. There was a deadline bearing down
on you. Worries about money, about not working hard enough,
about not being smart enough--those worries piled on top of
one another and the weight took your breath away. Maybe
something bad happened to you. Maybe you lost something,
or--way worse--lost someone.
But you survived. Later, looking back, you might have
said, "I don't know how I got through it." Still, you might
have suspected: you walked through the mist, towards those
who cared for you; they made you part of their circle; you
found joy in small things. Sometimes you found joy in very,
very small things. I think of the outbreak of haiku that
flashed onto Public Bulletin during finals week, a communal
shout against the misery, one that bore all your signature
touches--wit, humor, panache.
There are so many things I want to say to you. I want
to tell you about what it's like to work in your first job
out of school; how it feels to travel through your thirties
(many Davis Scholars already know this); how you never, ever
stop caring about what your parents think. These are things
that deep down I know you can only find out about when you
experience them yourself. Besides, people have done
research on advice: what they've discovered is that
afterwards, the advice-giver feels great, and the
advice-receiver feels terrible.
So instead of giving you advice, I just want to say
this: you are ready. Whatever the coming days, months,
years bring, you have the ability, the experience, the
skills, the resilience, the moxie. This doesn't mean that
there won't be surprises: did you ever think you would
learn so much, work so hard, write so fast, sleep so little?
You never know what lies ahead. But the trick, I think, is to fall
back on yourself, consider who you really are, and then be
that person. Life truly does get sweeter, not because
things get easier, but because you become more familiar with
who you are, what your heart seeks, what your soul needs.
You are formidable women; you are definitely ready. There
are great adventures ahead.
Next year, we'll all be scattered; I myself will be
down the road. And it's hard to say goodbye. We still have
a couple of days left together, though, so I'll close with
an observation. The tree for our class, the "real" one, is
on the other side of the chapel, across the road, by the
hill leading up to Stone-Davis. There's a stone marker with
the class year on it. But I like to think of the class of
'99 as the one with two trees--the official tree, and the
one you serenaded that April day. And here we are now,
gathered in circles near that one, the one you claimed for
yourselves.
So: remember what you've accomplished here.
Achievement takes all forms; be brave and take that path, as
conspicuous or inconspicuous as it may be, that will make
your heart sing. Take it as quickly or as slowly as you
want to. It need not be the one that people have chosen for
you; it should be the one that you claim for yourself. You
have great instincts; follow them. And Wellesley will be
rooting for you. Think of all the people you've encountered
here in the last four years, in the academic buildings,
Jewett, Green Hall, the Science Center, the library,
Schneider, the Sports Center, the dorms, the dining halls,
the entire campus. All those people will be rooting for
you. I will be rooting for you, too. It has been wonderful
to be your dean.
###
|
