Days Past
Some cities in this country are incredible, but the feeling of being back in the town of Claremont is untouchable — past experiences have built it to such height. After championing the eastern, southern and western stretches of the USofA, I feel as if I moved about like wind, accompanied by an odd sense of accomplishment and a breathing sense of adventure. Place to place I gathered love, and bit by bit I pieced together a purpose. Three dynamic years at Claremont has changed me as everyone is actively — sometimes aggressively — seeking their calling, somewhat in an unnatural way. For too long I was forcing myself into some mold, fading away from the present, into something old. But my recent road trip was humbling and original like a young child’s clever words catching you off guard.
I speak of the privilege to organically reflect and dwell on times of days past, unlawfully speeding forward towards flowing California. Focusing on the dashing white lines disappearing underneath me or tracing the red ridges of New Mexico, I reached a level of mindfulness that acted as a therapeutic time warp. Beneath the Southern Californian sun at this critical point in my life, two days before my twenty-second birthday, I have to thank everyone who has helped me along the way since my journeyed way may be the redolent purpose right under my nose. With music, feelings high and eyes peering upward, we were super troopers trekking down endless paths, some more bedazzling than others, some covered in darkness; the daily cruises took on a deck of distinguished vibes as memory lane and the present lane meshed in the confines of a Prius. A gang of nodding ducks approaching the shore, the constant was that we were moving-along-zoning to the castle of memories in Claremont, California. Everywhere I went the local crowds were memorable and stylistic and I was warmly welcomed to bounce around in their domain. I thought of it as a party in their shoes, a chance to exist in a new setting. A new castle. I inquired about social mixers, personal aspirations, contentment and fears. I asked and listened, danced and preached; I built my enterprise. I enjoyed spreading myself over their canvas and getting daps and pounds for my jigs. Powerful stuff, reassurance, mirroring your deepest convictions.
I loved when my boy became more alive than Yeezus in a New Orleans nightclub, parading around the open bar, flexing all his manliness. The open bar was an influence that we were well below, but it was the conscious thought of existing in the dazzling present spectacle that made him the captain of the dance floor. If I could bottle that mood, vibe, presence, in a whirlwind of a glass bottle and Gronk-smash it on Green beach any given Thursday night… God Help Me. (God Help Dean Spellman.) I think a lot of the preoccupied, submerged squares in this community would learn about the covert sides of themselves after emerging from their own sludge and absorbing the NOLA air. Existing in lively scenes is overwhelming as heads nod, judgments fade, barriers collapse, people expand, and fears dissipate. But it is fun — rocking the boat always was. I wish everywhere funk was free flowing from faucets. (People always wonder what is in the NOLA water.)
When I arrived back on Claremont’s campus I felt the energy of my past experiences flushing through my veins, and I knew I had to do something about it. A ship sunk in my gut somewhere over west Texas when I finally saw my past from a best friend’s eyes. From group reminiscence, retellings of defining acts, and many visits to golden moments, I came to realize that one of the biggest mental feats is to truly hold on to your experiences. It is such an intangible entity that the subconscious owns and holds dearly that it is nearly impossible to pull a memory from your back pocket and live with it, again. Brilliantly sweet the second a scene sling-shots an inspiration to mind. I break out my pen and close myself off to capture and preserve the sweetness like a jar to a jam.
I sit in the dark in my new room in the Green pod and cannot imagine the weeks ahead. The view is new but the sky is old and gray. I have ambitions to change things since I have seen how some of the best work out their situations. I have dreams of bringing together our shared mindset as I know it exists and burns so bright. Standing on the Green pod balcony, the sharp memory of the wet glittering walkway of last semester’s rainy days came to mind. I remember watching the copious rain fall like nails onto the white cement. I remember admiring the flowing currents streaking south between Green and Appleby, a rare sight. A beautiful sight, a new sight. Now, I miss that day dearly since it humbled me like a bumblebee in the midst of winter. Luckily in that moment, I realized for yet another time why I am here and why I have made it here. I walked into my room, lit an incense, turned on the lamp, put my head down, and opened my laptop to value my time with my thoughts. My recent road trip across the country evoked the same emotions.
Three days after making it back to Claremont, my twenty-second birthday struck gold at midnight on January 21, 2015. The cherry on top — one Marlboro light smoking in the middle of all-white cheesecake. I remember falling asleep that night reconciling with the abundant love that I had just received. There was a time when I was sixteen and struggling to fall asleep on a motel board-of-a-mattress. Here, toasty and embraced, I sleep now like I am one. The ultimate accomplishment is a million man march for your funeral, masses celebrating your life and stories, appreciating your lows and triumphs, laughing till cramps, laughing till tears. As the birthday song clapped to a close and I sat down oozing, while friends lined up to bless me with wishes, I thought of my funeral. I wanted to leave.
A CMC dean is notoriously known to take off his administrative hat and candidly ask students, “When you find a quiet time after graduation and hold your CMC diploma in hand, what are you going to look back on and cherish about your time at Claremont?” My answer would effortlessly revolve around this night when I was king of my castle. Over my time at Harvard, Elon, Tulane, and Vanderbilt, I could not envision my life without Claremont as if it was carved into my casket. Celebrations felt empty all across the country, but took flight amongst a reunited Claremont community. Small school, small community. One spirit; that is the difference. The ingredients are perfect. I know that what I am living through right now, this second, will all be a distant evanescent memory one day. Because of that, I have got to close that gap.
