Commencement

This morning I was reading in a novel about a high school commencement. Made me think of my own high school graduation. I lacked excitement, in fact I was blase about most everything. I did enjoy dressing up in the white commencement robes (Provo High School girls wear white robes while the boys wear green,) with matching white 4" heels. Man I loved those shoes; they were so easy to walk in and they looked fabulous. I remember donning my NHS stole and high honors gold tassels--the tassels that I'd envied my sisters for and swore to myself that I would get when it was my turn. I remember taking the classic picture with my parents in front of the spruce tree, and posing for my personal portrait next under the hawthorn tree and then next to the quince bush. I liked that. I remember thinking about my parents and how the occasion was for them: their youngest child finished with high school. I remember how Mom was frustrated with my blase attitude, and upset that after graduation I didn't want pictures of friends and I didn't want to talk to anyone--I just wanted to get out of there and go home.

Hah. I remember a lot about that night, actually. I realize now I'd been in one of those pensive, speculative moods. I was thinking about the traditional "end of an era" atmosphere that accompanies a graduation. I waited restlessly in the long line of alphabetized graduates...waiting for the parade. I didn't stay in my place, either. I tracked down the evasive friends I'd not seen in a while, reminisced and said my goodbyes. I snickered in encouragement for the schemes the PHS class of 2005 had up their sleeves--we'd talked about it for months. (It's tradition at Provo High for the graduates to blow up beach balls during the commencement speeches and throw them around during the ceremony...and we were determined to have more than ever before. We wanted to be legendary. And we were--there were tons. Local newspapers proclaimed that our graduation was disgraceful. Our administration was so furious the next two years of graduates had to sign contracts with their parents that they wouldn't do anything to disrupt the ceremony.) We were worst behaved graduates I'd ever seen... and I liked it. I had too many distateful experiences to respect my high school administration anymore. My attitude was very stick-it-to-the-man.

I remember how I felt while I sat in the audience. I waited for my turn. I tried to look classy and elegant when I floated across the stage, shook my principle's hand (and gave him the marble everyone was slipping into his hand (he ended up with a huge jar... chock another point to disrespectful students.) I went throught the motions. That was all. I was bored. I didn't feel the "end of an era" "we did it" "it's all over" mentality. Nothing had really changed. Not really. I would see different people and not have to go to high school anymore. But had anything changed in my life? No. It was just another step in life's pattern. I went to the all night party at the school. Wandered around by myself for hours, occasionally running into friends. I felt like I had to stay. Around five-thirty in the morning I drove myself home. I couldn't see a point, and frankly, who cared? I wasn't having fun, and I wanted out. I couldn't have cared less about the whole experience. Now I was like the rest of my family--out of phase one. FINALLY.

I gave no significance to the ceremony--so it held none.

But this.... ME in JERUSALEM? Whoa. That IS significant. The pictures I'll take in front of the house posing with my suitcases will be more poignant than a cap and gown. Striding into the departing terminal will be more of a landmark than a handshake and a diploma. I'm leaving so much behind. But I'm embarking on a mission that will bring so much more. I know my life will never be the same again. The people, the places, the lessons, the experiences... I'll be so affected I wonder if my family will recognize me after the return flight. I wonder if I'll recognize myself.

This truly is the end of an era--my life is changing, and my family is also changing--all of them. As if a host of crazed variables has infested my family tree... my sisters lives are changing too. My brothers' as well. New children are coming, they are moving, and nothing will be the same for any of us. I'm almost frightened at the thought that I won't know them anymore when we're all together again. We are all on separate roads now, and I'm not sure how long it will be before our roads will intersect again.

This trip is more than an excursion. It is the end of an era. The end of one of my eras... and it also is a landmark at the close of a whole chapter of Mildenstein history. Do not mis-understand me; I am not so vain as to think my traveling changes them. It does not. But the roads we travel are all bending unexpectedly now; and all at once. We can't go back after this. I can't.

I am a little nervous at the thought, but I know I'm on the money. When I come back I won't be me anymore-- everything about me will have changed. Well, perhaps not. I'll still have long hair and blue eyes. But as if I've peeked a few chapters ahead in my story, I know that even my face will have changed after this. I won't be the same Rachel. Wow does that sound corny. Let me put it this way:

"Commencement" means beginning. To commence--you know? High school graduation wasn't a beginning...it wasn't even an ending. It was more of a continuation...but with differences. My travels abroad in the Holy Land are a monumental beginning. It's pumping my life full of a catalyst for change and progression. So new. So much life to live. So unknown. And I am not afraid to leave. I shiver in my socks when I think of coming home, though--I won't know what to do. I'll have no money, no connections, and I'll be in different circumstance. Nothing will be familiar or easy. But I can do it. I'll gain strengths abroad that will help when I return.

No, I am not afraid. I feel the panic I never disclose as I watch the hurtling roller coaster cars shuttle past, realizing that each step brings me nearer to the same rushing fate that I'm voluntarily participating in the illogical; feeling keenly the uneasiness I would never admit or communicate. But I never turn around. I face it. I pull the safety bar as firmly to myself as I can manage, and when the car begins to move I forget my hesitation. I inure myself to the change and find that I am good at it. Almost designed for it. I'm a fast-adapting chameleon. I'm leaving the way I am behind the moment I cross into the terminal. I know it. But my new persona's shoes have been waiting for me to fill them, reeking with confidence. It almost makes me want to laugh. Because I know I'll be good at it. {Eleven Days Left}

Your friend,

Rachel