A friend of mine had a tradition during college that started when we met my sophomore year. On the last night on campus, he would stop by my dorm at 2 a.m. and make me drop everything to take a walk with him. He knew I would be up all night packing. I always waited until the last minute to pack my stuff for the 21-hour car ride back to Texas. The first year I resisted the invitation: “Joe, I need to finish packing. I have everything planned out to the minute so that my stuff will be on the curb ready to go when my parents come by tomorrow. I cannot waste any time.” But like a good friend, he insisted: “You have no choice. It’s our last day on campus this year. You will not get this moment back.” I rolled my eyes at his sentimentality, but I went.
We walked from my dorm to the Clarke Memorial Fountain first, a war memorial that stood in front of the student center. “Stop,” my friend insisted. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he made me pause and face the fountain and take in the sound of the rushing water. “Do you realize that this moment right here is the very last time you will stand in front of this fountain…” I almost interrupted him to say we’d be back in front of it daily next year, but then he continued, “…as a sophomore at Notre Dame?” I rolled my eyes again. “OK, Joe.” He just smiled and invited me to take it in. Then we continued our journey.
We walked to a bunch of places we frequented during the year, and each time he repeated his instruction: “Stop, Gretchen. Look. Take it all in. This is the very last time you’ll be right here as a sophomore.” After an hour or so, he returned me to my dorm so I could finish packing.
We repeated our last night walks together each year after that. They were both sentimental and filled with laughter and joy. One year it rained, and he added to his script: “Do you realize this is the last time we will walk in the rain and be covered in the mud of this campus this year?”
I never forgot those walks.
I did not pause to soak in my college experience much while it happened. In fact, I am not someone who remembers to pause to soak in much of anything. I am constantly on the move until I am asleep. I am always doing something, thinking something, creating something. Joe knew that and took it on himself to force me to pause at least once a year and see the beauty and the blessing in the experience. He forced me to recognize the “lasts” in every moment.
I wonder now, if I had only recognized the lasts present in the moments like these with him last year, would I have paused longer to soak them in?
Last month, a colleague and a friend passed away. Jack’s presence around school was undeniable, and not just because he was 6’8”. He was a constant mentor for me over the past 18 years. He had this habit whenever he saw me walking by in the hallway. Like my college friend, Jack would place his hands on my shoulders to get me out of my own head and make me stop and take notice of where I was and who was around me. “Don’t let it pass you by, Gretchen,” he’d say. I wonder now, if I had only recognized the lasts present in the moments like these with him last year, would I have paused longer to soak them in?
As I enter now into the busiest part of my semester, both Joe’s voice and Jack’s are constants in my head, reminding me to find the moments of pause. I feel their hands on my shoulders as they say, “Stop, Gretchen. Look. Take it all in. This is a moment you will never get back.”
What if we recognized the lasts in every moment? How would that change how we show up in the world?
Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash.
