On celebrations and ceremonies
The night before our eldest son’s graduation from high school, the five of us go out to a quiet family dinner. The weekend calendar is already booked solid with events gathering different circles of family and friends; knowing how big celebratory moments can splinter your energy and attention, it was important to have the opportunity to really be with each other. This dinner is a moment of focus for us before the explosive frenzy of graduation weekend.
I began this school year very cognizant of the fact that by the end of it, we would be sending our first-born into the world as a young adult and he will likely never live with us again in this way, under our care. There are few times in life when you are aware the thing you’re doing will be the last time. For example, I didn’t know the last time I carried my son would be the last. But this year, my husband and I reminded one another each time we experienced a “last” with our son – attending his last swim meet, going to his last baseball tournament, the last time he'd be able to visit the temple with us on the first day of the Lunar New Year, since LNY is not a holiday at the university he'll attend in the fall. All of these last times are building up to this culminating event and even though our son is the one graduating, I can't help but feel nervous and anxious and already wistful.
We ask him how he's feeling about graduation the next day. “Everyone is feeling sentimental right now,” he says. “But I'm not.” He started at this school in the first grade, when he was just a little boy with eyes too big for his face, skinny shoulders and a raspy voice. Now, he shaves every morning, borrows my husband's shoes and ties, and has a LinkedIn account. “I’ve been sentimental for 12 years,” he continues. “Tomorrow is just a day.”
Later, as my husband and I get ready for bed I think about what our son had said - tomorrow is just a day - and feel the emotional buildup in my body begin to settle.
A few years ago, I attended a celebration of life for a fellow colleague and was deeply moved by the stories his close friends shared. The stories were not pronouncements of his oeuvre of grand accomplishments, but simple recounting of the tiny things he did daily: smiling, singing, sharing silly jokes, playing his guitar, making eye contact in the hallways, being a warm presence. We gather around ceremonies to mark significant events, especially threshold milestones like graduations, weddings, and end-of-life celebrations; and while it feels like we are acknowledging this one seemingly climactic moment, I think the function of these celebrations is to remind us of the collection of daily practices that crescendo to this moment, and on the other side of this point in time, to offer a guideline for how we aspire to be.
It didn't have to take a big graduation ceremony for my son to appreciate having grown up together with his classmates - a unique consequence of attending a K-12 school - and so he is feeling like himself the night before. In fact, the word "graduation" means steps - graduation is about the process, rather than a culmination or an ending.
Tomorrow is simply a day that will bring us to the next. I hold this in my mind and drift easily to sleep.
