Convocation Revelation

This year I attended the UC Berkeley Convocation for the 2010 graduating class. Although I went to see my friends graduate, it was perhaps one of the loneliest experiences of this school year.

I went alone, even though I had an extra ticket. As I stood in line to enter Haas Pavilion I was crushed between eager families, all pushing and shoving, trying to get seats to the best possible view of their graduating loved one. Once I was in, I walked up and up and up the stairs, looking for a seat, only to find that most of them were being saved for family members with flowers and programs, purses and backpacks. I sat two rows from the very top, on the end, with my camera.

While I waited for the seniors to walk in, a family sat down in front of me. There was a middle-aged woman and her husband, both rather distinguished looking, and very happy. Their son sat in the middle of them, reading through the program. They kissed each other, hugged their son, and exchanged smiles at least every 15 minutes through the course of the 3 hour ceremony. At first I thought this was odd, but then I looked around. The Pavilion was packed full of husbands and wives and family just happy to be to be there, showing affection to each other, arms full of bouquets and balloons.

I sat there watching everyone and I just felt more alone than ever. Here was a building full of thousands of people who had done it. Couples that had been together for years and years, long enough to raise a brilliant kid, and see them graduate from an amazing school.

If this many people could manage to love each other for so long, to have families and celebrate their accomplishments, it can't be that hard, right? But I couldn't even picture myself being in their shoes. I couldn't picture attending my child's college graduation, I couldn't picture attending high school graduation, I suddenly couldn't imagine having a child, and I certainly couldn't imagine loving and being loved enough to spend my life with someone. It seemed....impossible.

When my friends started entering I whipped out my camera and obnoxiously took as many pictures as possible, despite being unreasonably far away. I watched them walk in and walk up the stage, I heard their names announced, and then I listened to speeches telling them all the places they'd go, the things they'd do, and to never lose their dreams.

They were leaving. It occurred to me that I had volunteered to go to the ceremony that celebrates some of my best friends leaving. Leaving Berkeley and leaving me.

At the end, standing and singing Hail to California, I just couldn't help thinking that everyone always leaves and nothing is forever. Even though I was in a stadium full of love, I was without and so very alone.