As I approach my final weeks as a student at Kenyon, I am reflecting on the many things, places, and people that have impacted me during my time here. In an effort to express some small measure of my gratitude, I’ve created a list of the gifts that I wish I could give to those things, places, and people.
For my first year roommate: a garden of daffodils, because they are my favorite flower, and you deserve only the best.Â
For the big tree in the freshman quad: your own radio broadcast to share the secrets you’ve gathered from the first years who’ve come to gossip and cry and kiss and play guitar beneath your branches.Â
For the 8 a.m. Econ class during my first semester: some caffeine and some frickin’ laughs, because you needed to learn how to wake up and take a joke.Â
For my secret senior crush when I was a first year: a sermon, with a thank-you for showing me that other people were also confused about religion, and that it was okay to exist in that confusion.
For the outdoors club: my eternal gratitude (and a few more *functional* camping stoves).
For every New Apt: more Christmas lights, Lucy Adams original artwork, soft colorful rugs, a beaded curtain, and plants—many, many plants.
For the mice that lived in the walls of Crozier during my junior year: muesli (because—inexplicably—you seemed to enjoy snacking on mine??).
For the stairwell at the end of Lewis Hall: carpeting. Your steps are too uncomfortable for the number of times they’ve had to bear the weight of 19 year-olds crying on phone calls to home.
For the KAC pool: a stronger heater (not all of us are Olympic-track swimmers okay?? Some of us just want to bask in the water).
For the 12-person vans: a built-in Aux (we know you love our mish-mashed 8-hour-long playlists).
For my senior year housemates: an endless future of Sex-and-the-City-style brunches and rendezvous in cozy beds.
For the future Kenyon generations: a little less effort to be someone.
For the sky above the NCA lawn: less light from below, so that your constellations may shine in all their glory.
For the floor of the Horn Gallery: a thorough scrub. Thank you for bearing my swaying, stomping, and jumping with such care, and for matching my enthusiasm with your reverberations.
For the bartender at the VI: a strong Mai Tai with only the finest rum. Thank you for your patience (especially during trivia nights) and your taste in bourbon.
For the chair-desks in Ascension: seat cushions. You’ve had to endure enough years of rough jeans in winter and sweaty bare legs in Spring. You deserve a little pampering.
For the daffodils on Middle Path: a field where you may grow wildly amidst tall grasses.
For myself: grace—in the actual definition of the word: “free and unmerited favor,” blessings, forgiveness, goodwill. You have learned, after much practice, to be soft with yourself when the world feels harsh. May you carry that softness with you in all that you do.
