Several weeks before the end of our first year at university, some friends and I faced the scary realization that we were nearly done with a quarter of our college experience.
Well, at first it was simply a realization. That it was scary was a bit of elucidation - unexpectedly intense - that followed shortly after.
We were five weeks and several all-nighters away from the bittersweet triumph that is the end of finals week - bittersweet in that it also entails the parting of ways for a long summer. Naturally, we had to take action. We had to seize every moment. We had to construct a concrete plan to avoid our limited time slipping away from us.
Sitting at a table strewn with calculus and chemistry and classics from Machiavelli to Marx, we pondered. The Five Week Adventure was hatched.
It was a dream born of two mismatched sheets of construction paper taped clumsily together and a scented marker that knew only haphazardly drawn lines. Delighted by our own whimsy, we devised a calendar, etching five rows of seven squares each to represent the weeks remaining in our freshman chapter.
Our calendar went from crude to captivating in a matter of minutes. With escalating zeal, we marked down upcoming events we knew of in the boxes corresponding to the day on which they were occurring. It was a way to keep track of birthdays. To remember this concert or that festival we wanted to attend. To plan ventures downtown and beyond. We left it in the lounge of our dorm for others to contribute to as they chanced upon it.
I recently attended a memorial service for the father of a friend back home. His death by heart failure was quite sudden, unanticipated. Family and friends from all walks of his life spoke of the complex man he was - full of mulish obstinance, but possessing a bottomless capacity for compassion in company with it.
They spoke of the details that comprised his character. The sound he made after eating soup he knew was too hot, attempting to cool it down once already in his mouth. His ability to wheel around in his rolling chair all day, taking measurements and filling in charts as he examined patients, avoiding rising to his feet for impressive bouts of time. His great love of chocolate. So great that even the most unsavory of conditions couldn't deter him from consumption - no sidewalk or subway seat was left unturned if the sweet stuff was spotted there.
And they spoke of how much they would miss him. Of the depths of their grief at his loss.
It struck me to hear the seemingly minute features of his personality, the very specific incidents from his course of existence - some reminiscences from decades ago - that people remembered and deemed important enough to share at a service honoring his life.
It struck me because life can be so unpredictable, its vicissitudes so beyond the grasp of our comprehension. One can never foresee what moments will stand out at the conclusion. One can never know when the window of memory-making time might abruptly close, when our dreams might become locked away in an untouchable past. Perhaps most troubling of all, we may not realize that we are on the greatest of adventures while still in the midst of enjoying, resenting, passively accepting, or in any other way experiencing it.
For those five weeks, we did realize.
We said yes to every invitation we could. We marveled at the vocal talents of student a cappella singers. We explored film premiers and food festivals. Art shows and dance shows. Farmers' markets and artisan fairs. Corners of our own neighborhood and alien ones. We packed our bags and took the first train to Indiana one Sunday morning to hike and swim and race down sand dunes. When academic obligations reared their not-always-pretty head, we took our studying to a sunny patch on the quad, or an unfamiliar nook in an unexplored building.
We discussed the complexities of the universe and we ate pints of ice cream in single sittings. We contemplated the meaning of love and we danced in rain puddles. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, a grand time.
I adamantly maintain that the aptness of quoting Winnie the Pooh need not diminish with age. Because before leaving for the airport, when the inevitable tears escaped my eyes as I said my farewells, all I could think was, "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
And though those were farewells for a few months, and though we are past the days enumerated on that construction paper calendar, I do hope and believe I have not said goodbye to the Five Week Adventure. It became more than a bucket list of activities and amusements to ensure that our freshman year went out with a bang. It became the framework for a mindset of living all of life as an adventure. So that we recognize the extraordinary wonder and beauty that constantly surround us, even in the most seemingly mundane of places. So that we take heed to appreciate the people - old ties and new - that make our lives vibrant and colorful. So that there are good stories to tell at our memorial services.
It seems nothing illuminates life quite like death. But second to that most perspective-shaping of phenomena are Five Week Adventures.