Next year, try not to tow my car

By

Next year, try not to tow my car

It doesn’t come quickly, does it. It’s a gradual realization, a slow coming into consciousness. The year’s almost over, and this time things are somehow different.

This year we experienced a defining point that left permanent imprints on our minds. We watched as monuments of our stability shattered and collapsed to the ground, and later we watched our fellow human beings stumble out of the rubble and glance back over their shoulders at a skyline that will never be the same.

This year we grew more confused over issues that were never really clear to begin with. Dividing lines between right and wrong, black and white, life and death, all bled into each other, blurred until we couldn’t tell which side we were standing on anymore. We watched our fellow students drift apart because of such lines, and then somehow, almost by magic, stumble back into each other again.

This year we threw insults a little less carelessly, or at least caught them with a little more craft. We learned to step a little more gently when walking in someone else’s shoes, and that walking doesn’t even get to occur until someone first takes the initiative to crawl.

This year we took many stands and pushed many down in the process. We learned that while it is comfortable and traditional for some to fall while others stand, it may not always have to be that way. Maybe next year we’ll learn to let everyone just sit around and have coffee together instead.

This year we got caught up in too many things, and yet let too many smaller, perhaps more slippery, issues slip through the fibers. We learned that no one is right, and no one is wrong; that everything is about race, and that nothing is about race; that we all want the same things, and that we all plan to step on the same toes to get them.

This year we made friends, made enemies, made bridges and then burned them behind us. We watched fellow students wave banners for what they believe in, only to take them down a few hours later when the commotion was over. We watched as the people around us changed, as we changed, as everything changed, for better or for worse, in the span of a few hours. We watched as the big picture somehow dissolved into six billion smaller ones, each an individual, each with a voice, and yet each one aching to be connected again.

This year was filled with confusion and enlightenment. We came to realize that nothing will ever really make sense, that nothing will ever really be fair, that nothing will ever really come together, and we came to accept that. We learned that that’s what we’re here for, that that’s what growing up is really all about, and that we don’t need to fight it anymore.

This year we say goodbye to one man who made us laugh while he pulled a few pieces of the puzzle together. We wish him well, we wish him happiness, and we send him off with pride.

We will miss you, Chaz.

This year we protested, we appeased, we held hands, we broke bones, we embraced each other, we pushed each other away, we drew dividing lines between us, and we crossed borders that we hadn’t before. We learned that no one is right and no one is wrong, and maybe we became a little more aware of our own frailties while we broke down boundaries and each others’ spirits. This year we learned that no one will be able to give us the answers we seek, except ourselves.

To everyone: take a rest, have a great break, and come back stronger. Be ready for a whole new class of the lost and confused, be ready for a whole new year of cramming course-loads into overnight study sessions, and be ready for whatever this school decides to throw at us next.

Don’t leave your worlds unfinished, and I’ll see you all in the fall.

Alycia Smith is a sophomore English major and columnist for The Cardinal.

alycia_smith@louisvillecardinal.com