There is one sentence I have seen begin articles more than any other in my two years as an editor: "It's that time of year again."
Aside from the repetition, there is a greater reason I dislike that sentence: While it carries connotations of hope (the start of the school year, the first snowfall of cheery Christmastime), it holds just as many negative implications - such as the end of the school year, the time we say goodbye to a class of seniors who have changed us tremendously and left their mark irrevocably.
Have you ever spent so much time with a couple people that nothing they say surprises you? You know exactly how they're going to react to any given situation, and you estimate your success rate to be around 65 percent when it comes to predicting what they're going to wear.
It's a beautiful thing, really. You get to know another soul so well that it feels like your own. I will be back for one more year with The Spectrum, but nine editors, including the two managing editors with whom I have shared so many nights and treasured moments over the past five semesters, will not be returning.
I know when Senior Managing Editor Brian Josephs sits down in his chair, though there are two walls separating our offices. I recognize the silent squeak; it's different from any other.
I know when Managing Editor Rebecca Bratek is walking toward my office. I recognize the sound of her feet, usually bare, sliding on the floor like roller skates.
With their commencement ceremonies looming and departures from Buffalo at the forefront, I've found myself deliberating the gravity of "goodbye."
A goodbye is a handshake that turns into a hug, a smirk and downward head turn that silently says, "you're ready for bigger things, and I'm OK with letting you go so you can pursue them." A goodbye is unselfish.
A goodbye is song lyrics that seem overdone outside the moment but never hit harder than when you are in it. Every word relates.
A goodbye is a "thank you." Thank you for putting up with my old self and your crucial role in making me the person I am today.
A goodbye need not be teary to be genuine, but it makes no apologies for emotions. It knows that given the weight of the situation, sometimes they're uncontrollable.
It's that twist in your stomach that you get when you're nervous, like when you're about to speak in front of a crowd or receive the final examination for which you've studied over many sleepless nights.
A goodbye steals the moment. It takes the concerns, the pebble in your shoe and ink stain on your shorts, and destroys them. It saturates the setting.
A goodbye is sneaky. It lurks in the corner, reminding you one day it will come, but you never sense its authority until it has finally and fully arrived.
I find it fitting to begin and end each semester with a lesson learned. I began this spring writing about death, talking about the certain humanity, the specific empathy, in the moments of a funeral that cannot be duplicated.
Admittedly, it was dark, but it served a concrete purpose: a reminder that one day, we all won't have color under our fingernails, and that day, the things we obsess over now will not hold much significance at all. It was a reminder to impact people by caring about them.
A goodbye is a great thing. It is an admission. That, aside from death, there is no such thing as a goodbye. It is closing your eyes and rationalizing that now, in this technological day in which you can video chat on your telephone, there is no true distance.
When it comes to your future, seniors, I refer to a Gaelic blessing: "May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand."
We read for selfish reasons. We read because by the end of any writing, we want to believe we are better off for having read it. We have learned something. We have advanced. If you get anything from this column, as you go through this tumultuous time of graduation, please remember the following:
A goodbye is a greeting. Hello to a different stage in life - a stage with the wind always at your back, with the sound of a new person sitting down, with the constant memory of the people who made it so hard for us to admit that it was, indeed, that time of year again.
Email: aaron.mansfield@ubspectrum.com
