The first of many farewells

Dear undergraduate classes,

We've had an interesting time together. You've taught me about world religions, the spanish language, how to make oil that smells like bananas, how neurons migrate, how we see, hear, touch, taste, and smell, and so many other topics that I can't recall, but trust me, they've made an impact. But beyond that, you've refined my tastes: I don't like chemistry. Nor am I interested in modern physics (perhaps conceptually I appreciate it, but not much more aside from that). I love the brain even more than when I first arrived.

You have also taught me more about what I am like. I am not a book learner. I learn by example. I cannot take a class between the hours of 2 and 3 and always expect to stay awake.

While I will take so many more classes in my life, no other experience will replace you. From here on out, everything will build upon what I have learned from you. You gave me that solid foundation necessary for further growth and development.

Thanks, undergraduate classes, for everything that you've taught me and tried to teach me. As stubborn as I might be, more may have gotten through to me than I let on.

With gratitude and fond memories,

me.

Today was my last day of classes. I started out my day by running tons of errands. I met the love of my life. Her name is Ellie, and she's a 15 week old golden lab. She has ears like velvet and a smile that warms your very soul and that dissolves your brain into mush so you're only capable of ooh-ing and aah-ing and cooing.

Moving on from the cute animal realm, final thoughts from my last class ever:

1) Even though it's complicated, you've got to do something.

2) There's no difference between being scientific and being compassionate.

I walked through the quad and heard music coming from the church. I sat in it for a while, listening to the organist play, and I marveled at the sound (it's impossible not to): the bass notes vibrated the benches, sounds would linger for seconds (a long time, acoustically), high notes would carry through clearly, and the middle was muddled but would all resolve itself into beautiful chords that carried through. It's a nice metaphor of sorts for classes. There are ones that stick out - the ones that are not so good and borderline awful, the ones that are fantastic and great - and there are ones that get stuck somewhere in the recesses of my brain. Nevertheless, they all eventually come together in some culminating, resonating chord, which is this time, this very moment. I am preparing for my last finals, and using everything that every class has taught me maybe not in actual content, but arguably the more useful elements of taking classes-- how to be a test-taker, how to study, how to relax. Like the music notes on paper, looking at the equivalent - my transcript - will illuminate for me those middle-of-the-road classes and remind me of the highs and the lows, but nothing is as perfect as this moment now to reflect upon everything that I've been taught. It's sad moving on, even from some inanimate, amorphous thing, that appears only in my memories, on paper, and in bits and bytes. I guess that makes it easier- I don't need to hug it goodbye, no formal salutes or thank yous, it's just... done.

Hopefully my open letter will suffice.