Have confidence in the past and faith in the future
Adam Cahill
A Domer's Outlook
Looking back at your family on the other side of the security check, it's understood — it's time to begin your life now. For real. Suddenly the thought of the real world causes your stomach to leap past your chest and into your throat. I'm not ready for this, you think to yourself. But the time has come.
You've spent the majority of your life getting to this point and waiting for it to happen only to wish that it was four years earlier, if not more. College has flown by and you've barely taken a step back to give it more than a second's thought. There's no time to think about that now, though.
Stepping through the security gate and past the rushing crowd, you hesitate and take one last glance at your family for the past four years. Your friends have gotten you through the best of times and the worst of times — each time overcoming your expectations of them as friends. They seem rooted to the airport concourse floor, unable to move until you've turned the corner. Joanna and Jill D. are crying and even Joe D.'s eyes are glistening at the thought of the group breaking up after graduation. You're so sad but at the same time so happy that they were there with you. You'll see each other again but with one final wave, you know it's true. It'll never be the same.
Not being able to take anymore, your head tilts down and away from them. Walking away from something that you love is the hardest thing you will ever have to do in life. But you also know that it takes more courage to let go than it would be to try and keep things the same. As much as you want things to stay the same, they need to change.
It's too much for you to bear and taking a seat, you give yourself time to recover. After several minutes of sobbing into your closed fists, you wipe the tears from your eyes and stand up. Looking up, you see the task set before you — the large "Departures" billboard lists all the flights out of Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.
The ticket in your hand has no destination on it yet — just a departure and arrival date — a graduation gift from your parents. Considering all the possibilities, you take a seat again. There are just too many choices. Paris. London. Hong Kong. Berlin. Sydney. Madrid. Amsterdam. How will you ever make the right decision? It will come to you. You're sure of it.
An hour later, you still haven't decided your travel plans. The only thing that keeps you occupied is fear of making the wrong choice. Thinking to yourself that regret is one of the worst possible emotions, you finally rise and move over to the appropriate counter.
Since your ticket doesn't have a destination as of yet, you will have to fly standby the attendant says. No problem. You can wait. Time is on your side.
There's time to read or to watch television but neither seem appropriate to you. So you just sit there, pondering the last four years, the fork in the road and the direction you're going to take in it. Should you go here or there? You know the final result of your decision is neither here nor there because the journey will have many more forks that will require a decision. Yet you can't stop asking yourself questions that have no answers.
Stop it, you scream silently to yourself. There's no use in doubting yourself now. Closing your eyes, you remember all the memories that should stricken doubt from your vocabulary. In four years, you've graduated from a university unlike any other. A university whose education warrants a "wow" from academics anywhere, but also a college whose varsity monogram jacket is a prize that athletes all over the world aspire to earn. You've taken on the weight and responsibility of tradition and excellence. And you won. You succeeded by earning the degree.
You've graduated from Notre Dame. No one can ever take that away from you. And after doing that, you know you can go anywhere and do anything. You are truly bound by nothing.
The final call is announced for your flight and the attendant cordially invites you to step forward with your ticket. With a smile, a thank you and a deep breath, you head down the runway toward the plane. You don't know what this road is going to bring to you; you only know where you've been in the past. The only thing you are certain of is this: You've got to keep putting one foot in front of the other and everything will turn out the way it should be.
Adam Cahill is a junior majoring in history and American studies. His column appears every other Wednesday. He can be reached at acahill@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Wednesday, May 7, 2003
