“Heart of a Child”

The Imitation Game

by Katie Von Bargen, 2021

During an incredible semester abroad in Spain, one of my greatest joys was forming a friend group with local Spanish young adults, wildly similar to myself. They showed me the sweetest and most exciting parts about life in Spain. Through their friendship, I learned far more than I ever could within the confines of a classroom. The program itself was focused on immersion in every sense.  We lived with host families. We took classes from University of Salamanca professors. And we were allowed to speak only Spanish with each other for fear of a punitive scolding by our program directors. One day, we were spending time laughing and skipping through the richly historic streets of Salamanca.  My Wake friends and I were reenacting some of our kindhearted but repetitive program director’s classic lines. Between giggles and grins, one of our Spanish friends turned to me and said, “your accent is actually a lot better when you’re doing an imitation.”  I usually felt that I was trying to adopt a native-like accent when I was speaking Spanish.   My American accent was actually one of my biggest insecurities as a Spanish language learner; however through pure imitation and without effort, I was actually achieving that feat. 

Imitation is oftentimes portrayed in a negative light. When we were growing up and one of our friends bought the same shirt that we did, much to our aggravation, our parents would tell us that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” Children tend to mockingly imitate adults who forbid them from doing something mischievous. As we grow up, we are bombarded with the message to just “be yourself.” And that is beautiful and valuable advice. But I think there is another side to imitation. What if it is not all bad? What if it does not have to come from insecurity, but rather, springs from admiration?

Since beginning my college journey at Wake, I have been able to note incredible qualities in many different individuals that I can only hope that others will one day see in me, too.  Imitating my program director in Spain helped me to adopt a better accent.  In that same spirit, I think there is a way to imitate those around me that I respect deeply, in hopes that I can begin to adopt the exemplary characteristics that shine through them.

I want to imitate the dedication of Dr. Margaret Bender, who mentored me in my first-ever research project. She showed more passion and fervor for an overlooked community than I have ever seen, and even created a summer class from scratch just for me so that I could be prepared for my research with her. We have all had a professor who lights up in front of the class while sharing about their research passions. We have all had a professor go to great lengths to ensure that we could understand and apply to material beyond a multiple-choice exam. May we all imitate their dedication. 

I want to imitate the patience of Shan Woolard from the OPCD.  She read over the same personal essay six times; I went to her every time I changed a single sentence but wanted to be assured that the narrative still flowed. Instead of being met with exasperation, I was met with a sincere smile at every appointment. And there were a lot of appointments. We have all used a resource like the OPCD here at Wake; many of us would not be sitting here without the aid of the offices that exist simply to help us. May we all imitate their patience. 

I want to imitate the pure joy of Dr. Luis González, who, when you see him, makes you feel as though running into you by chance was the highlight of his week.  He sent me monthly emails last semester just to check in, even though it had been years since he had me as a student. We have all passed by one of our professors on the quad who shared a heartfelt grin to brighten our day. May we all imitate their joy. 

I want to imitate the determination and curiosity of the students I peer tutor through the Learning Assistance Center.  Many of them are praying for the day they can be finished with their Spanish requirement, and yet they are working more diligently than anyone I’ve seen in a subject that does not come easily to them. They have taught me that resilience can get you through anything, even an oral exam in SPA 212. We have all known a friend who pulled an all-nighter in the ZSR atrium the night before a big exam. That friend may even be you. It certainly was me sometimes. May we all imitate their determination.

I want to imitate the generosity of the countless number of alumni who I’ve reached out to.  I found them by quietly stalking LinkedIn profiles to find fellow Demon Deacons who are working in speech-language pathology, my future career. Every one of them took time out of their day for an hour-long phone call to pour over their career path with me. I earnestly hope I can imitate them by being that resource for others in the future. We have all formed meaningful connections because of the community of alumni at this university. May we all imitate their generosity. 

I want to imitate the encouragement of Dr. Tiffany Judy, who has mentored me in linguistics, helped me find research opportunities, encouraged me in my academic career, and written letters of recommendation for me. She opened my eyes to a field of study that I love and took precious time out of her schedule to help me further my career. I could not be more grateful. We have all had a professor pour into us. We have all had a professor who saw the potential in us when we did not see it in ourselves. May we all imitate their encouragement. 

I could stand before you and boast about the accomplishments on my resume. I could praise the many opportunities and resources at Wake Forest that made those accomplishments possible.  And I am confident all of you could, too. A quick scroll on LinkedIn consistently leaves me blown away by my peers’ achievements. But I must not overlook the most significant feature of Wake Forest, an aspect of this school that is far more important than any accolade or GPA: the people.

The diversity of passions, skills, and journeys are what makes Wake so incredible. I will take something away from every person that I interacted with, both those who I got to know well and those I only met in passing. And when I graduate, begin graduate school, and ultimately pursue my calling, I pray I will be able to find a community that imitates that of Wake Forest: a community full of dedication, generosity, and encouragement; and I pray you do too. Once you’ve been in a community that has these qualities, I don’t think you can settle for anything less. What an honor it has been to attend a university that gave me a community of people who I want to imitate.  

Transcending Boundaries

by Zariah Hawthorne, 2021

I was not supposed to be here. This statement is loaded, but the odds were stacked against me. Many studies show that children born to teen parents have a myriad of problems: health and socioeconomic disparities, disadvantaged academic achievement, and greater risk of socio emotional problems. According to Paula Fomby, in Population Research and Policy Review, a Black woman is more than 50% likely to experience teen pregnancy when their mother had childbirth before the age of 18. Teen parenthood is transmitted intergenerationally. Born to a teenage mom at the age of 16, whose own mother was also a teen mom, the odds of any other path were not in my favor. According to this research and its projections, I should have been a teenage mother and I should have had lower academic achievements–both of which could have prohibited me from attending this school. When society looks at me, my socioeconomic status, the color of my skin, my gender, it sees someone more susceptible to falling between the cracks, thus continuing what seemed like a generational curse and becoming another troubling statistic. 

I knew how those statistics foreshadowed my fate. So, from an early age, I began to intentionally challenge and controvert each presumption about my future. I defied those statistics and studies, broke the cycle of teenage pregnancy, and will soon graduate from a national top-30 university. Overcoming barriers and tackling adversity became a specialty of mine and I was ready for anything that came my way as I started my educational journey at Wake Forest University. 

There are a lot of myths about the college experience, but the fact that these four years flew by in the blink of an eye is not one of them. The past four years at Wake Forest have been filled with laughter, tears, falling in and out of love, finding lifelong friends, long nights in ZSR, and random walks on the Quad. However, as a Black woman, I could not turn a blind eye to the

political and social climate in the country or the turmoil within the university. Every semester there seemed to be a new incident that invited me to feel a lesser part of the community. The lack of diversity and inclusion at Wake Forest became a focal point in my educational experience, causing me to wonder if I belonged at this institution. As the tensions rose on campus, I could no longer just focus on my education. 

While these outside variables began to weigh heavy on my educational activities, my biggest blockade at Wake Forest came from within: imposter syndrome. Gill Corkindale of Harvard Business Review defines imposter syndrome as a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist despite evident success. There is a persistent fear of being found out as a fraud. School always came easy for me. While I was not expecting the same level of ease coming to Wake Forest, I did not expect to study endlessly for freshman Biology exams and still fail them. To make matters worse, it seemed as if my peers were flourishing with little effort. Many times, being the only minority student in the classroom, I questioned why I was there, if I belonged, and if I was smart enough. Habitually, I had been the student who sat in the front of the class; however, I began sitting behind my classmates in an effort to hide and draw attention away from me. Class participation was hard, especially when I had the fear of giving a wrong answer or not articulating my thought in the best light. I felt more comfortable inputting ideas in smaller group settings, but even there, I received microaggressions from peers that solidified my doubt about belonging. 

In this uncharted territory, I felt as if I was just flailing – excessively stressed and overly anxious about discussions, exams, and my grades. It was not until I attended a Queenin’ session, where the focus is on emotional and mental wellbeing during second semester of sophomore year that I realized I was suffering from imposter syndrome. I was not giving myself credit for my

accomplishments, only focusing on the negative. I was doing well in a majority of my classes, but there would be one or two classes a semester where I struggled, and I let them consume my thoughts. 

After this event, I realized that asking for help was not a sign of weakness or an indication of unworthiness to be here. I deserved to be at this school just as much as anyone else. I put in the work to get accepted into this school and nothing was handed to me. While there was a large part of me that knew I could contribute, the distress of looking like a fraud kept me silent. Once I got rid of these fears, I became a more effective asset to classroom discussions and group projects. I realized that by not participating, going to office hours, or using other university resources, such as tutors, I was only depriving myself of the full educational experience that would prepare me for my future endeavors. My silence was not only doing a disservice to me, but also to my classmates and professors because new, diverse outlooks are needed. 

Wake Forest University has given me a strong foundation and prepared me to thrive in a fast-paced, competitive atmosphere. Though it had a rocky start, my educational experience has taught me to recognize my achievements, accept that I cannot be perfect, and believe in myself. As I continue my journey into the workforce, I am sure that there will be times of self-doubt, but 

when they come, I will remember how I overcame these thoughts at Wake Forest. Intelligence is abundant here and learning how to be assertive in my ideas is the greatest lesson of my educational experience. All my life other people placed their boundaries and statistical models on what I could and could not do, yet here I was placing limitations on myself. My mantra coming into Wake Forest was that every boundary is an opportunity. I am proud that I am continuing to transcend boundaries and I will forever be grateful for the resilience and confidence instilled in me by Wake Forest University.

Works Cited: 

Corkindale, Gill. “Overcoming Imposter Syndrome.” Harvard Business Review, May 2008. hbr.org,  https://hbr.org/2008/05/overcoming-imposter-syndrome. 

Fomby, Paula, et al. “Family Resources in Two Generations and School Readiness Among Children  of Teen Parents.” Population Research and Policy Review, vol. 34, no. 5, 2015, pp. 733–59.

Finding My Fish

by Kyle Adams, 2021

Things were good.  Really good.  I was the student trustee, the president of Club Baseball, and sitting on several prestigious committees as a junior – a whole year ahead of expectations.  I was dating a pretty girl two years older than me.  My GPA was near perfect.  Oh, and I had visible muscles for the first time in my life.

I felt like I was gliding – like a raindrop sliding effortlessly down a windowpane.  I had curated the perfect image of my “self,” and others seemed to approve of it, too.

And yet, after two months of getting virtually everything I wanted, I felt empty.  The narcotic of achievement was wearing off.  The victories that once convinced me I was invincible no longer felt fulfilling.  And I began to convince myself that people only cared about me for what I could achieve, rather than who I am.  

When I first noticed these cracks in the façade I had so carefully constructed, I quietly cried over the phone to my parents and then-girlfriend.  At a certain point, though, I couldn’t even find the energy to cry.  I wore baggy sweatpants and hoodies to meetings with administrators and professors.  I ate most of my meals alone in my room.  I laid in bed at night unable to sleep, yet I struggled to pull off the covers in the morning.  I could barely bring myself to put socks on my feet.

The depth of my depression should have been the peak of my joy.  As I opened my email one February afternoon, I was greeted by the subject line that I was a national finalist for the Truman Scholarship.  I don’t remember smiling, celebrating, or even telling anyone for a while.  I just read the email again and again, in disbelief that my drug wasn’t working.  Anxiety and depression riddled my brain, and their hazy depths prevented me from figuring out why I felt empty.

For three years of college, I tried to create safeguards to avoid this exact problem.  I majored in philosophy with no minors or double major.  I spent two summers doing the same research in the same city.  And I spent my weekends in isolation, reading books or watching sports.  These, I thought, were evidence enough that I wasn’t driven by vain cravings for achievement.

Despite these conscious – though marginal – efforts, I now see that my identity fundamentally operated on a reputation of achievement.  I knew how to impress people when it truly mattered, and my deep-down motivation came from vicious ambition.

The problem is, what happens when this curated image is stripped away from me, and I’m left naked without its armor?

What happens when Truman says no, the girlfriend leaves, my trustee term expires, the committees dissolve, and the teenage six-pack begins to fade?  When I’m diagnosed with moderately severe anxiety and severe depression.  When I go to sleep wishing that I wouldn’t wake up the next morning.  What’s left?

After the whirlwind of my first three years, I felt defeated – as if I was sitting on my knees, picking up the ripped shreds of the canvas I once painted and now destroyed.  I’ve spent my senior year sorting through these shreds, discerning which parts to keep and which to let go.

As I tried to gather myself during the fall semester of my senior year, I repeatedly listened to David Foster Wallace’s speech, “This Is Water.”  Foster Wallace’s speech begins with a parable, in which two young fish swim past an older fish who says: “Morning, boys.  How’s the water?”  One of the younger fish looks at the other and asks, “What the hell is water?”  This parable, and the rest of Foster Wallace’s speech, asserts that the real value of a college education lies in developing a critical awareness of our perceptions, our beliefs, and our naturally self-centered dispositions.  How we construct meaning from our experiences, how we can exercise control over how and what we think, how we choose what warrants our attention every day.

At the end of his speech, Foster Wallace forewarns the danger of worshipping fleeting things like money, power, personal appearance, and even intellect.  But Foster Wallace’s assertion provides only the aspirational outcome of a university education, not the journey of getting there.  In other words, Foster Wallace explains what it means to know that “this is water,” but not how to find and engage the wise, old fish who will prompt the essential question in the first place: “What the hell is water?”  Nor does he shed light on how to find the other young fish who are equally willing to swim towards such intimidating questions.

I submit to you that these interlocutors, both faculty and classmates, are what merit the most attention during our four years of college.  As my favorite high school teacher advised, we ought to “major” in the faculty: the people who will light our intellects on fire and serve as lifelong mentors.  And we ought to focus on relationships that cultivate our souls, rather than enhance our statuses or bring temporary thrills.

I’ve been fortunate to find both kinds of fish, particularly during periods of emotional turmoil.  Freshman year, I cried in Dr. Phillips’s and Dr. Ellis’s offices after my childhood friend was murdered.  My friends Anna and Parker brought soda and candy to my door before I drove home for the funeral.  Exactly one year later, my friend Julia re-watched the funeral’s livestream alongside me as I sobbed in my bedroom.

Cameron held me as I cried on the Quad when my beloved childhood dog died.  Coleman sat with me for hours after a heart-wrenching breakup.  On his own birthday, Jim stayed on the phone with me for an hour after a second breakup.  Dr. Lamb consoled me after losing the Truman, losing the Rhodes, and failing to be reelected as student trustee.  Melissa made sure that I knew she was only a phone call away at any hour.  Andy, Donovan, Dr. Franco, Dr. Austin, and Dr. Brown, among countless others, spent hours counseling me through anxieties over what I should do after graduation.

These relationships, for me, are the most essential part to engaging Foster Wallace’s call for us to develop critical self-awareness.  College, after all, is soul-craft.  It’s the gradual gestation of the soul, born from the emotional peaks and valleys that we experience away from the safety of our families or hometowns, and the frequent monotony of adult life in the working world.  Such an endeavor is near impossible without others teaching us how and where to swim.

I don’t regret accomplishing the things I did at Wake Forest.  I’ve had experiences I could’ve never imagined, and I wouldn’t give them back.  But I wish I had taken the time to ask myself: “What will genuinely fulfill me when the praise lulls in between achievements?”

I did not write this speech seeking pity or sympathy.  Frankly, I wrote this speech for all of the other students and graduates who have felt similar compulsions to achieve their way to fulfillment – and felt like they couldn’t talk about it.  For everyone who was told that college should be the best, happiest four years of your life – and couldn’t make sense of why that story didn’t always ring true for them.

I share my story to encourage the rest of you to share your own, no matter how painful.  From my experience, trading recollections of our bouts with turbulent waters is what usually grounds the most meaningful relationships.

Wake Forest is one of few places that provides such a special opportunity to find the wise, old fish who will invest in you, as well as the curious, young fish who will swim into the deep end with you.  The water will inevitably become cold, or murky, or choppy.  Perhaps all three at once.  But your fellow fish will support you through the hellish processes of grief and suffering that reveal what truly matters in a life well-lived.

Finding my fish is the greatest gift this school could’ve ever granted me.  Whether you’re a freshman or a graduating senior, a parent or a professor, I urge you to take stock of who your special fish are.  Hold them tightly and be sure to seek new ones wherever you go, because they will be the buoys that keep you afloat when your fins become too weary to swim.

Fear of Missing Out

by Olivia Bayard, 2021

Fall 2017: The student involvement fair proved to be a wonderland for me. 

For my first three years at Wake Forest, I filled my schedule with interest meetings. I signed up for every club that I had even the mildest interest in.  Sometimes I would leave one meeting early to catch the tail end of another. 

I connected my initial interest in every club to an end goal. The poetry club would propel my poetry skills and add color and liveliness to my writing. The philosophy society would help me  communicate my ideas and arguments better.  Writing for the student newspaper would help me model my writing career after one of my favorite writers: Malcolm Gladwell.

One of my greatest fears was missing out on opportunities to develop marketable or practical skills.

But in the midst of all this worry about a future career there lurked an even greater fear that I should have had: the fear of missing out on life right now. This is the fear of not being present in my own life and thus missing out on doing things simply because they felt good to do.

It has always been easy for me to meander through life, checking off boxes on my to-do list of “great achievements:” 

graduate from high school: check, 

apply to colleges: check, 

accept an offer: check, 

self-publish a collection of poetry with the hopes that it will become an overnight  bestseller: check,

But life should be more than just a mundane checklist of goals to cross off. 

Looking back, I see that by spreading myself incredibly thin in those early Wake years I burned myself out. I made promises that I could not keep due to overcommitting my time. I carried through with promises that I did not execute to the best of my ability due to mental and physical fatigue. I see now, that I was not able to enjoy the perks of fully immersing myself in one or two organizations. I had my feet and hands in four, or even five, clubs at any given time. Meanwhile I struggled to balance classes, work, and friendships. 

Eventually,  I learned that one of the only ways to truly cherish life is to slow down, if only for a few minutes each day.

During my first fall at Wake, I was enrolled in a First Year Experience course where the concepts and practices of mindfulness and gratitude were formally introduced. We read about nonlinear career trajectories and failures that turned into exhilarating opportunities. We learned that what really matters is being able to overcome our fears and appreciate the tools, experiences, and power we each have at hand.

Spring 2019: A few days before my 20^th birthday, my grandmother passed away.  My perseverance in life was tested by this heartbreaking event. In the face of my greatest loss, I had to learn to find strength in the present rather than brood over the past or stress about the future. 

In the following  six months, however, I spiraled into a pit of despair. It became difficult for me to socialize or write, instead I preferred to stay in bed. I struggled more than usual to get work done, and several times a day I would sneak away to the bathroom to cry. Believe me, if you have ever lost someone dear to you, I see you and I empathize with you.

What I re-learned over the next semester was that mindfulness and gratitude were essential to my healing process. 

I soon realized that there was so much more to be grateful for than to be sad about. Yet, my feelings of sadness and loss were still valid and worth discussing.  At the moment, I may have been devastated, but I knew it would get easier to look back fondly on memories with my grandma.  I can smile now as I recall how we would eat tangerines together on her back deck in the muggy and loud New Jersey summers.

Likewise, some of my best memories at Wake  took place in the Women’s Center lounge, during early morning breakfast on the weekends at The Pit, at Can I Poet meetings, open mic nights, and Friday Night movie screenings by the Student Union.

These were the spaces in which I had developed a community of friends who were not only irreplaceable but  some of the most uplifting people in my life.  They inspired me to reflect, to get out of bed, and to take action. They encouraged me to keep going.

 These were spaces that welcomed me whether I was smiling from ear to ear or teary eyed and ruminating on a picture-perfect past.

These were spaces where I would see friends but also meet new people. Here I could put my phone down and engage in stimulating debates or absolutely mindless banter.  Spaces to laugh aloud and make plans for the weekend, to share my writing and validate the writing of others, without the inevitable pressure of editing or publishing. These are the Wake Forest spaces that have helped me to live in the moment and to pursue joy as a means and an end. These are the spaces that have influenced my growth and sincere enjoyment of my time here at Wake.

Spring 2021: I still have a list of goals that I hope to achieve over the course of my lifetime. And I do not regret the zillions of interest meetings I attended. But now I have new lists that include demonstrating my gratitude for things that range from attending Wake Forest University to getting to breakfast right on time, from hearing birds chirp outside my window in the morning, to getting the opportunity to learn new ideas from my peers. 

I no longer fear missing out on things that are beyond my control, that may merely contribute to my resume, or that rank high on my list of practical priorities. Instead, I strive to be present in my life. I strive to indulge myself in activities and spaces that I find pleasurable.

I invite you to join me in taking at least 10 minutes out of every day to reflect on what you are grateful for. To reach out to a friend you have not spoken to in a while. To focus on being present and mindful. To take a walk and really take in what is around you. To do something you truly enjoy doing just for the sake of doing it. I have learned that we cannot get yesterday back and we do not know what tomorrow will bring.  So let’s make sure that we do not miss out on right now.

Gratitude and the Struggle Against the Noonday Demon

by Alex Klee, 2021

Far too often, in the discussion among students that takes place before class, or in the mindless banter that happens between two people lined up in the Pit, I hear the same words. “Ugh,” someone grumbles, “I can’t wait to be done with this semester!” 

Among so many people, there seems to be a sense of discontent with the current moment, accompanied by a wistful longing for the future, as if only the times ahead will bring peace and satisfaction. “As soon as I finish up finals, I can enjoy life again!” they say. Yet, this never appears to actually be the case. Rather, among these people, the restlessness often persists. This can be seen as one proceeds through the different stages of life. The high school student grows dissatisfied with her experience and longs for college. The college student becomes exasperated with the drudgery of everyday work and craves graduate school. The graduate scholar looks with resentment on the studies he has left before he can get into the workforce. And the cycle continues.

There is nothing wrong with looking forward to certain events in life. Often, there are times that merit our excitement. In those instances, we are right to be giddy with anticipation and to celebrate them when they come. However, I believe things turn problematic when our looking forward comes at the cost of no longer appreciating the current moment. When all we ever do is wait for what’s next, the present becomes a waste. There are so many scenes of joy and beauty for us to take part in that we miss when we turn our attention only to subsequent chapters.

As I’ve learned in my religion and ethics courses, theologians of old like Evagrius Ponticus deem acquiescence to this feeling a serious vice. This fourth-century thinker describes what the Christian tradition labels acedia, or sloth. Amidst one’s daily toil, the “noonday demon” creeps in, stirring up discontent and a desperate desire to be elsewhere or to do other things. Evagrius goes beyond that wistful aching for the future that I’ve described, citing that those stricken with acedia may also lose themselves in reminiscing about past experiences – anything to distract from the duties they have in front of them. Whether you believe in demons or not, I think this ancient monk has tapped into some useful insight.

Often, we lose our appreciation for the “now.” When consumed with the amount of responsibility we possess while on campus, it becomes easy to waver in our grasp of just how much of a blessing it is to be here. We long for all the tasks to be finished and all the meetings to be done, but we don’t always recognize that all such things are privileges in the first place. One symptom of acedia is procrastination – something most students know quite well. Procrastinators grumble at the reality in front of them, immersing themselves in all sorts of distractions and fantasies to escape. Yet, we go to a beautiful school, home to a community of wonderful individuals. We should never wish that away.

I myself fell victim to this lack of appreciation all throughout high school. I latched onto the idea of moving out and embracing the adult life – studying at a prestigious college, no longer under the jurisdiction of my parents. I was always daydreaming about the years of independence to come. But one moment in life brought me to a jarring halt. 

One day my junior year of high school, I came home to learn that my mother, the woman who means most to me in life, was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis – ALS. She was written off, given two to five years. The energetic, resilient woman I elevated as an immortal hero now faced debilitating illness. This left me reeling. 

It was then that I began to realize just how much I’d been consumed by my own lack of appreciation. Painfully, I saw how much of a gift time is; once it slips from your fingers, it cannot be regained. You may believe in an afterlife. You may not. Either way, this period we have on Earth is limited. Every passing second is a precious.

My mom has helped me see this. She has illuminated for me that the remedy for this vice of acedia – of trudging through life, from one opportunity to the next – is gratitude for the time we have. And even today, five years after her diagnosis, in good spirits and stable condition, she continues to remind me of that fact. Gratitude gives us pause, during which we can exist fully and joyfully in the moment rather than only grasping at some far-off happiness. 

This is an uphill battle, though. From my psychology courses, I’ve learned that humans possess an evolved negativity bias. It’s easy for us to fall into this habit. But every moment, we must struggle onward, toward a virtuous appraisal of the beauty that surrounds us. 

Wake Forest University is the perfect place to put gratitude into practice. If we can’t embrace joy while living in this paradisal bubble, then when can we do it? We can look at the work we have ahead of us and shy away, groaning “Ugh, I can’t wait for this week to be over.” We’ve all probably said something like that at one time or another. Or we can try something different. We can recognize the goodness that sits before us, graduating knowing that we cherished every moment we had with it before it turned into memory. 

My religious, philosophical, and psychological schooling at Wake has illuminated a great many truths for me. As I graduate, one of the most important ones is that which I’ve learned about taking up gratitude – and how to defend myself against the noonday demon.

Works Cited

Hanson, Rick. Hardwiring Happiness. New York: Harmony Books, 2013.

Konyndyk DeYoung, Rebecca. Glittering Vices: A New Look at the Seven Deadly Sins and Their Remedies. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2020.

Living Out Pro Humanitate

by Andrew Logan, 2021

When I sat down to write this speech, I struggled with how to address the topic that has largely consumed public discourse for the past year – Harry and Megan leaving the Royal Family. I’m kidding, of course. I mean COVID, which I often shorten to severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2. The struggle in my head goes like this — on one hand, the virus has been world levelling and has altered all of our lives and college experiences — it would be criminal not to make it central in this speech! On the other hand, however, I really didn’t want to even bring it up. Our class has had 2.75 years of completely normal, uninterrupted college. It would be nice to give a speech that focused on lessons learned from experiences in those years, before the world in so many ways turned upside down. COVID had already consumed our senior year, our media, our humor, our ways of communicating, our elections – did it have to consume graduation as well? Once again, like so many of you probably have, I wished a Wake Forest where the virus was gone.

Now, for those of you who have seen the film It’s a Wonderful Life, you might recognize a parallel here. For those who haven’t, the film follows community everyman George Bailey who, down on his luck, seeks to end his life. Sent to his aid is his guardian angel, who walks him through a world where he has never been born and helps him realize the value he has to those around him. Now, there are two ways to apply this story to our present situation. The first examines a world without coronavirus and highlights positive experiences it gave us — the upshot of the past year. This is the approach I took in an earlier draft of this speech, but it didn’t feel genuine. It felt disrespectful to the departed, the displaced, and the unduly burdened. A better way to apply the story of George Bailey is to focus on the film’s deeper insight. The struggles George faced that so discouraged him were the very ones his guardian angel showed had molded him into the kind of person who could help his community and who mattered to others, even if he didn’t feel he mattered to himself.

To me, that is what the Wake Forest motto of Pro Humanitate is about. I had the privilege this past spring to take a class with Dr. Michael Lamb, who on the very first day of class had us read an article by Wake Forest classics professor Dr. James Powell on the meaning of Pro Humanitate. The article struck me in that it pushed the definition of our motto beyond what I had previously understood it to be. Literally translated, Pro Humanitate means For Humanity, and there is certainly a compelling case that our first 2.75 years of Campus Kitchen shifts, Wake Saturdays, community tutoring, and classes designed to expand the scope of human knowledge were literally in service For Humanity. Dr. Powell acknowledged as much but also encouraged us to go deeper. To him, Pro Humanitate calls us to not just act in the service of our community but to also consider what constitutes genuine human flourishing.

And if the experience of our class has shown us anything, it is struggle by which we flourish. In normal years college is not supposed to be easy, in this year it has been especially challenging for each of us in our own ways. Yet rather than let that struggle define us, we have pushed above it. We have found new ways to stay connected and keep the Wake Forest community relatively COVID free. We have pushed through heartbreak and loss to deal with difficult classes. And we have learned from this year. For me, COVID taught that it is okay to slow down and have respite from the breakneck pace of classes and extracurriculars that defines the lives of us ambitious Wake Foresters. More significantly, COVID taught me about the enduring power of friendships, and how they grow stronger in the face of adverse circumstances.

This year has been hard, but the virus cannot negate four happy, wonderful years of college. COVID is part of those four years, four years of all-night grinds in the ZSR, of First Year Seminar and Lovefeast, of chants at Spry Stadium and cheers in frat basements, of incredible travel and research experiences from the coffeehouses of Vienna to the remote cliffs of Bhutan. And yes, of Zoom classes and job interviews wearing a collared shirt on top and boxers on the bottom. COVID is a part of our college experience. So often I think we aim to minimize such negative experiences, to work around them, dismiss them, or bury them. I say that, rather than running from it, let’s embrace it, wear it on our sleeves, be proud of our lived experience. We graduated Wake Forest – Work Forest, in the midst of the greatest social and economic catastrophe in nearly a century. After that, we are well equipped to live out Pro Humanitate.

The Power of Imagination

by Lilian Nassif, 2021

During a time when most of my energy was spent working for awards, good grades, and standardized scores, Wake asked me to imagine. My fellow seniors will remember, as part of our application we were all asked to write a top ten list– a prompt so open-ended that it almost felt bizarre. I remember feeling vulnerable because for the first time in my high school career, there was no Google search or Quizlet that could offer the perfect response I ached for. I had no other choice but to think outside of the box, using my imagination to reveal who I was through a simple list.

As I completed the list, I realized I had been ignoring a fundamental skill I had exercised unconsciously my whole life. Growing up in a multiethnic household in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, meant that I had always needed to imagine connections among the languages, cultures, and philosophies which culminated in my personal identity. Within me were these powerful pairings: the common value of kindness inherent to both Christianity and Islam; the similar intonations of the Spanish and Arabic languages; and, a host of fears and desires that are shared among all people.

Unlike any other species  on the planet, we have been gifted with the power to imagine.  This gift allows us to see beyond the binaries and to form connections between groups that, on the surface, might seem worlds apart. From the very beginning of our association with Wake Forest, we were asked to imagine – because what is education without this quality? –  It takes imagination to learn and to challenge our own belief systems; it takes imagination to care and to fight for causes beyond our individual life experiences; and it takes imagination to forgive, to grow, and to move forward, regardless of the challenges. 

Creating a top ten list for Wake Forest was more than just fun activity — it was a test of our capacity to think critically about who we are, using our creativity to convey our identity in such a way that goes beyond black or white thinking. 

Growing up as a woman in an authoritarian country taught me the power, as well as the danger, that can come from being able to see the world for its grey spaces. When my external circumstances restricted me, imagination and inquiry were my strongest weapons because they offered me a vision of the future that not only felt, but in fact was, limitless. 

It is our gift, and our responsibility to express our imagination. I was reminded of this principle during freshman year, when I was randomly assigned to my first-year seminar. In it, we read The Color of The Law by Richard Rothstein. It is a piece that illustrates how our government used its power to intentionally segregate white and black communities across the country. As someone who grew up abroad, I had never really examined racial discrimination and injustice in America. However, the author’s influential language and his exploration of the facts allowed me not just to understand these injustices on an intellectual level, but also to feel them. Rothstein’s writing invited my class to listen and to be imaginative, giving us the tools to think ourselves into the places of others. My choice to major in English and minor in Journalism quickly followed, because I realized that the power of the narrative is what mobilizes human empathy, and thus, can promote collective action. 

Most of us here today bore witness to this narrative power on the 20th of January, as we listened to inaugural poet Amanda Gorman summarize our generation’s present challenge when she says: 

“And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us

but what stands before us

We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another”Gorman invites us to express love, by imagining ourselves into the lives of those born other than what we are. Through her vision, we have been reminded of our power to build a future that brings empathy, unity and love to the forefront of our lives. While many may refuse to identify with any suffering that does not touch them personally, it is precisely our capacity and willingness to do so that is a necessary choice we all must make. Our long-ago top ten lists, as well as the experiences, and friendships we have earned since then, have proven that each of us can use our imagination for good. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: Wake Forest has shown us our  power to imagine better.

To My Home Away from Home, Thank You

by Shayari Peiris, 2021

One word, four letters: home. To me, home represents eating kiribath, which is a Sri
Lankan coconut rice cake, on my birthday, the sweet smell of magnolia flowers, and hugging my
elderly dog. Home can be found in the places, people, and things that compose our hearts. And
twenty-five years apart, my parents and I left our respective homes.
On a winter morning in 1992, my parents arrived in the United States for the first time.
Their journey from Sri Lanka spanned oceans and thousands of miles. Trying to empathize, I
have often wondered what mixture of emotions they felt as their plane landed in Boston. In
conversations with my mom, she described her first few minutes in America as a sensory
overload, but once my dad held her hand in his, she exhaled a sigh of relief.
With each patient day since their arrival, my parents slowly forged their ‘home’ in the
house they built together, strangers who became friends, and the red-orange hues that each New
England fall brings. Growing up, my parents enriched my life with Sri Lankan culture in an
American context. I seldom felt different from my peers because I had the best of both worlds.
On August 25th, 2017, 780 miles from home, I began my freshman year at Wake Forest
University as a first-generation college student. For the first few weeks, relentless self-doubt
permeated my thoughts. Yet, despite being separated by distance, I felt more connected to my
parents than ever. In my own way, I was living the story they had told me as a young girl. Over
an evening phone call home, I learned of the catalyst for my parents’ resilience. When searching
for comfort in times of change, my mom advised me to look within myself for direction. While I
certainly felt overwhelmed each time I walked through a crowded dining hall, I found familiarity
in the softly lit path to my dorm, the crimson-colored trees, and the first friend I made who
reminded me of my sister. Today, I know Wake Forest as my second home because of the people
and things here that make me feel known.

Shortly after walking into Greene Hall for Abnormal Psychology during my sophomore
year, I met a piece of my heart for the first time. Each class period I spent learning about
invisible illnesses and disorders of the mind ignited my curiosity for mental and developmental
health. However, I made a wrong turn. My search for what I thought would give me security, a
career in business, brought academic struggle and confusion. I clung to the assurance of my
acceptance into business school, but come summer’s end, the illusion of safety shattered. I
finally had to acknowledge how unenthusiastic I felt about the future. Two years wiser, I knew to
focus my energy internally and listen. Retracing my steps led me back to Greene Hall and I
walked confidently through the door. Making the choice to follow your heart feels like coming
home to a place where you feel solace and inspiration.

One day in November 2019, in the psychiatric ward of Wake Forest Baptist Medical
Center, was when and where I met my “why”. I was shadowing a psychiatrist and our task was to
check-in with patients who had recently tried to harm themselves. The psychiatrist exuded
acceptance through his soft vocal tone and smile, which transformed each hospital room into a
safe haven. Though I was a stranger to them, the patients openly shared their personal histories in
moments of vulnerability and I listened with sensitivity.

As I moved from room to room, the thoughts of schoolwork and weekend plans that
normally float about my mind quieted. Hearing of the driving forces that moved these people to
take near-fatal action offered me the chance to understand the intricacy of humanness from
perspectives outside of myself. At the end of my visit, I drove home to Wake feeling at a loss for
words, but I knew I was profoundly changed. I often reflect back on that day and each time, I am
filled with deep appreciation and a drive that motivates me to pursue a career in mental
healthcare.

Reflecting on the past four years of my life, I am grateful. From listening to the hum of
conversation in ZSR at midnight to feeling a gentle breeze drift by while strolling along the quad
at sunset, I will treasure these memories and more. The appreciation I have for my education, the
mentors who guide me, and every way this university has invested in me is everlasting.

While traveling the path far from home, I felt like running back more than once. Yet, I
chose to continue on and even change directions. Each step forward enlivens my passion to learn
more about mental wellbeing so that I may ultimately aid those in need of relief and compassion.

Though I must soon say goodbye to the place that has been pivotal in shaping me into the
woman I am today, I know that I will always find my way back home. As I move on into the
next season of my life, I will keep my mom’s words of guidance to trust and believe in myself in
the forefront of my mind. Thank you, Wake Forest, for empowering me to trust in the subtle
familiarity of new people, places, and things that remain constant across geography. To extend
the lesson to you, choose to focus internally, listen closely, and take thoughtful action in the
direction of where your heart and soul lead. The memories and traditions that we all share bind
us together to Mother So Dear, our home away from home.

Maybe You are Ready

by Zoe Stuckey, 2021

October 2020 had to be one of the most tumultuous times of my life. Like the average
Wake Forest Student, I was taking on probably more than I could chew. I lost my
grandmother, I juggled being in executive positions for two organizations, worked on not
only one but two theatre projects, and worked a part-time job. And like everyone else, I did
this all on top of trying to balance classes as a senior student during a global pandemic. But
to be honest, October was not far from the typical Wake Forest experience: feeling
overwhelmed and doing everything at the same time . . . except this experience was on
steroids . . I felt hopeless, unprepared, and incredibly anxious.

Those feelings were familiar. Growing up, I had never felt like I had stability. I had
always been an anxious person. I had always been moving from city to city with mainly my
mother and grandmother. And although I had traveled to numerous cities, going off to
college was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I was being shoved
completely out of my comfort zone, forced to become an adult before I was ready. In all
honesty, going to college under those conditions did not seem very enticing.

Come freshman year, I was engulfed with anxiety and worries about not fitting in with
my peers. Everything felt so overwhelming, from sharing a space with a stranger, learning
how to coexist with even more strangers, and finding a passion for something I could major
in. I just was not ready. To be honest, I did not feel ready for a while. I just wanted to stick as
closely as possible to what I knew and follow what my peers were doing, a trap that we often
fall into when trying to find ourselves. It was not until then that I instead got into a routine of
trying to do anything and everything all at once–something Wake Forest
students are so notorious for doing.

We sacrifice sleep, social events, and most importantly, well being for the sake of
accomplishing as much as we possibly can in one short span. There is no telling the number
of times I have turned down participating in spending time at Zick’s after a football game or
declined to spend time with others in my community because “I’m too busy” or “I have to
study.” I was always so anxious trying to prepare for the future that I had never prepared
myself for the present. This became especially prevalent when COVID-19 came into view. It
pulled the rug out from under me AND everyone else.

I’m going to be honest with you. If you had told me that toward the end of my college
career that I would be living during a global pandemic, finally get cast in a WFU play I
auditioned for, or kept at arm’s length with loved ones and friends, I would have smiled
politely and quickly walked away from such an absurd joke. The funny thing
is–this was not a joke; it was a chaotic reality for me as well as many other students. At first,
I was excited about a long spring break, and in my head, I knew we would all come back and
say, “Wow, can you believe that crazy stuff happened.” It turns out that spring break 2020
turned into a daily nightmare.

As you know, this past year marked a time of uncertainty for all and unrest for most. It
was a test of everyone’s mental fortitude. This past year forced us all to grow in one way or
another.\ It challenged me to think of my identity as a Black woman learning to push and
grow during times of uncertainty and injustice. It challenged me to think of my identity as a
Wake Forest student by taking the time to apply one of the central skills Wake
provides—educate myself. I educated myself along with other colleagues of the Wake Forest
community on systemic racism and how to cope during that unprecedented time.
Honestly, I did not think I would make it through last year since there was so much to learn
and so much taken for granted. I did not think I was ready to face this past semester.

Although a lot was taken away from us this year, especially traditional Wake
experiences that could have happened for the class of 2021; This loss also allowed us to
create a unique legacy of resilience that no other senior class will ever claim. Not only were
we some of the first students to learn more about diversity and inclusion in regard to our
campus life, but we also had the opportunity to witness one of the biggest movements for
racial equality that the US has ever seen. Not only were we able to switch to a completely
different format for education, but we also were able to go to college during a global
pandemic and make progress even when all the odds were against us.

I am personally so grateful for this year as well as for the Wake Forest community. I
lost some loved ones and opportunities, but I still made it through. During this past winter
break, I reflected on how I did not think I was ready to take on the world at the start of last
year. I reflected on how anxious this year has made me. I reflected on the fact that I am
getting older. And that I am going to face another scary milestone: graduating from Wake
Forest University as an undergraduate and beginning a new chapter of my life.

Moreover, even though this year has seemed long, it feels like it has flown by. Even
though we may have thought we would not make it through this year, we did. So, I thank my
grandmother, mother, professors, friends, faculty, and peers for showing me that strength and
resilienceare possible in even the darkest of times. Maybe we have always been ready for whatever life
decides to throw at us, regardless of what we think ourselves to be.