I’ve been up and down all week. There are moments I’m desperate to cling to everything familiar. I just want to fall asleep next to Mom on the couch. I hug her goodbye when I leave for school in the morning, and then go back for another because I wasn't fully present with the first. I kiss my brother goodnight and take him out for ice cream probably more than he has the craving for. I steal every hug I can from my friend Connor. I want to make sure I touch base with all my senior friends. I plant myself down at their lunch table and will myself not to leave, for fear that I'll later regret I didn't spend enough time with them. I visit my grandparents next door often. I'm anxious to eat as much of home food as I can, from Mom's homemade cookies to my stepdad's oatmeal to Grandma's crepes. I'm scared about not getting enough of all those I love.
Then there are moments, sometimes only an hour later, when I'm anxious to throw it all away. I want to toss all my t-shirts from high school drama. I don't want my parents to talk to me. I'm determined to be independent. I don't want help or advice. I put on my Denison sweatshirt and browse their website, watch the campus tour and envision myself there in a few months. I just want to run away to Denison, away from familiar influences. I feel uninspired and stuck. I’m ready for a change of scenery and new voices. I feel uncultured and ready to move on.
I can just as quickly switch back, suddenly feeling overwhelmed about leaving, scared that I'm losing part of myself. I tear off my Denison sweatshirt, nauseous at the sight of anything red. I dig through my closet trying to find something to wear. Then somehow I decide that nothing I wear feels like me and everything is restrictive, and all I want is to be naked on the beach, where no fabric restricts my chest and I can just breath the salt air.
I get frustrated at myself for these fluctuating emotions. I don't eat and then I binge and then I get more frustrated with myself, unsure of what to eat or who to talk to or what will make me feel better. I didn’t know the direction in which this post was going, except that I just needed to write and get out all these emotions. As I wrote, I realized that what I’m scared of and very aware of is time. I'm conscious of time slipping by, and I'm paralyzed by everything I want to cling to and everything I want to do. I remembered that Lin-Manuel Miranda, who graduated from Wesleyan University in 2002, delivered the Wesleyan commencement address this year, and he mentioned something about a “ticking clock.” I re-watched the video and realized that Miranda was describing exactly how I was feeling, and, as he often does, he put me at ease.
(Before you read further, I recommend you listen to Miranda’s commencement address, beginning around 4:15. http://newsletter.blogs.wesleyan.edu/2015/05/24/mirandacommencementspeech/. Although I will provide some context for my references throughout this post, they will be easier to follow if you watch/read the address. It’s also just a really good address.)
In describing how he felt upon graduation, Miranda said,
“Most of all, I remember the sound of two distinct clocks in my head. One is super fast, whirring. T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t. That’s the sound of your four years at Wesleyan. With one day to go, all the packing you still have to do, all the people with whom you are still trying to find a moment to say the right goodbye."
That "super fast, whirring "T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t" clock in my head is the sound of the last 18 years of my life.
Then there’s the second clock, “slower and booming.” “[T]hat’s the sound of the rest of your life,” Miranda says, “and what you’re going to do with it in the time you have on this earth. Some of you hear this clock constantly. You wake up in cold sweats at the thought of it. Some of you are utterly oblivious to it, God bless you. Guess what? It’s ticking whether you hear it or not.”
That “slower and booming” clock is the clock in my head that is so anxious to go off to Denison and start this next phase of my life. I want to immerse myself in the arts. I’m so ready to “sink my teeth” into them. But I feel like I keep delaying it, choosing an outdoor orientation instead of an arts one because I was afraid the art one might be too stimulating for transitioning into college, and I thought I might like a lower-key transition. But the thing is I’m hungry for inspiration and stimulation. These last few weeks have been so hard to stay motivated in school, and my lack of investment in my classes has been bothering me, because I’m usually someone who is very invested. So even though I know that I’m going to enjoy the outdoor orientation, the part of me that regrets my choice is the part that's very aware of the "slower and booming" clock and is anxious to start following her passions.
I cried as I watched Miranda’s address. I just want to be where he’s at. So badly. I want to be so angsty with emotion and things to say that I crank out some project in three weeks. I want to be so invested that I forget to eat or sleep. (It's the romantic idealist in me.) I just want to do something, but I'm so overwhelmed with this desire to do something that I don't know what to do. And the clock ticks louder.
Miranda describes two characters in his new musical Hamilton: Vice President Aaron Burr and Founding Father Alexander Hamilton. He says that both Burr and Hamilton are aware of “the ticking clock of mortality,” and present two different ways of facing death: Hamilton charges forward, while Burr waits for the perfect opportunity. Neither approach guarantees success, and I think what Miranda is trying to say in his address is that sometimes we will wait for our shot, and sometimes we will charge forward. But whether we’re waiting or charging forward, we must “sink [our] teeth into this life” and not let go. We must cherish what we have now while always looking ahead, ready to take our shot.
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