Sometimes it’s important to restate the obvious. Each year we express our love for our mothers on Mother’s Day, express optimism at the tolling of the New Year and proclaim our patriotism on July 4th. Although recurrent, those expressions are reassuring and no less meaningful for the repetition.

Similarly, on almost any graduation day, I expect to hear celebratory speeches that speak to the challenges that lay ahead, the thoroughness of our preparation and our need to embrace uncertainty. I very much want to hear those edifying words and encouraging thoughts. In fact, I need to hear that kind of soaring oratory, but I’m afraid, that is not going to be this speech.

I, for one, have approached this day with a certain dread. They are making me leave campus in just a few hours. I must remove the black lights from the fixtures in my room, pack my Xbox 360, patch the wall where my TV once hung and be gone. Why must I leave? My four years can’t possibly be up yet. Can’t I stay just a little bit longer?

In the interest of time, let me start nearer the end than the beginning. I came to Carleton and Northfield of my own volition. No one forced me into exile, but I came with my share of reservations. It was a trade-off. I was leaving the land of sea, sun and psychosis for that of cows, colleges, and contentment. Standing here today, I could not be happier with the decision I made to trade in my board shorts for long underwear, my flip flops for snow boots, and my surfboard…well that came with me. Let me try to tell you why Carleton has become so important to me. In doing so, I think that I speak for many of this graduating class in feeling that we have together shared an unparalleled experience. What comes next will be different for each of us, but for the last four years we have been joined in a common formative venture that has enriched us all.

The first thing I noticed upon my arrival in Northfield was the smell. My nostrils filled with the sweet smell of Malt-o-Meal. It only took a few hours for the wind to change direction and for me to better understand the “cows” in the Northfield slogan and made me wonder if “turkeys” wouldn’t be a more apt descriptor. Here in southwestern Minnesota, late summer is quickly followed by early morning frosts that are too soon replaced by arctic winds and our noses, like our sense of smell are buried in winter scarves, dormant until spring. Like a leitmotif in a Thomas Mann novel, we will always associate the smells of this place with our experience here. It is an invisible bond to the community that surrounds us.

The smell of the local farms also reminded me that my urban existence had been supplanted by a largely rural one. I was used to living with the ocean on one side of me and about 9.8 million neighbors on the other. I’ve come to understand and appreciate that places such as Carleton thrive in places such as Northfield. The distance from a large city translates into a sense of isolation that encourages creativity, fosters independence and builds community. There are also far fewer bars in Northfield than in Los Angeles. The postcard beauty of the scenery, unimpaired by traffic and crowds, allows for tranquil introspection as well as a feeling of well-being and good fortune.

No one from California can come to Minnesota without talking about the weather. In fact, that is why almost no one from California comes to Minnesota. But, for as much as we all complained about the weather, it too played a real role in our experience at Carleton. How many times did you think that perhaps it was just too cold to venture outside and go to class or how often did you slip on a patch of ice in your haste to deliver a paper on time. Unpredictable and uncomfortable snowstorms, rainstorms, hailstorms and thunderstorms have probably brought us closer together than we realize and made us study almost as hard as we told our parents we would. It gave us the opportunity to spend more time talking with a friend in Sayles when we didn’t want to go outside to face the elements, or to revise a paper when Frisbee on the bald spot wasn’t a viable option. The shared hardship of the winters and the communal pleasure of the coming of spring built camaraderie which brings me to the most outstanding thing about this place, the people.

The liberal arts experience is not just about location or curriculum, but the people that make up the student body, faculty and staff. My classmates, my professors and my coaches are what have made my experience at Carleton so extraordinary and so enriching. The faculty hasn’t merely taught us, they have taught us how to think. They didn’t merely allow us to pursue our passions, they have encouraged that pursuit. Whatever individual paths we may have pursued, faculty and staff uniformly provided encouragement and support.

My classmates are smart and independent thinking. We have been able to cultivate and nurture ideas, pursue new interests and hone existing skills. Some of us played varsity or club sports and learned what it meant to be student athletes. Some of us tried playing a musical instrument for the first time while others perfected their technique on instruments they have been playing since childhood. We are what we are not: alike. We are quirky, sometimes even eccentric, originals. For many of us the road less traveled isn’t a cliché, it’s a way of life.

Yet, as a group, we have the ability to come together for the greater good. At the very beginning of our sophomore year we lost Ted Mullin, who would have graduated last year, to a rare form of cancer. He was my swim teammate and our friend and we as a community came together to support one another to cope with his loss. Together we took a simple phrase “Cancer Sucks” and turned a tragic loss into an organization that keeps Ted’s memory alive and advances sarcoma research.

My education at Carleton has been a privilege that I simply don’t want to surrender just yet. Carleton has given me experiences that I don’t want to relinquish quite so easily. Until I sat down to collect and articulate my thoughts, I didn’t fully appreciate just how much I treasure these four years and how much my classmates, professors and coaches have come to mean to me. Rather than say farewell, I simply want to thank you all for the time of my life. To my classmates I encourage you all to thank your friends, professors, parents and coaches for a great four years. Congratulations class of 2009.