The last chord of The Beatles’ “A Day in the Life” – the final track of the band’s 1967 album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” – serves as a sonic statement of all things final.
That epic E-major expresses what ultimate conclusiveness must sound like. Conversely, though, it’s so big and it’s played so decisively that it HAS to be still echoing somewhere – in some hideaway record store in London or in some audiophile’s basement. Maybe, in the walls of the EMI studio itself, some 44-year-old dust particle continues to tremble from leftover reverberating sound waves.
When I first thought about writing my final column for The Knight, I expected to hear that chord – the chord that means, “It’s really over.” Lights fade to black. Dramatic pause – roll the credits. But I don’t. I was never the type to buy into the macro thought processes of my fellow graduating seniors – it’s overwhelming, exhausting and impractical. Graduating seniors face immense pressure to pedestalize every moment.
I hesitate to think in terms of “lasts.” Life always goes on. Even this very newspaper – the one you’re holding now – will continue to have a life beyond its existence in print and ink.
In this newspaper’s fibers lie a thousand potential next steps, just waiting for their numbers to be called. It could blow away and melt away in a storm drain. Maybe it’ll become papier-mâché. Maybe it will enhance someone’s compost pile, disintegrating back to the earth to become soil and fertile ground for new growth once again.
One of my favorite authors, cantadora and Jungian psychologist Clarissa Pinkola Estés, calls it the “life-death-life” cycle. Roman Catholics call it the “paschal mystery.” Even Mufasa lectured Simba on the “circle of life.”
Whatever language you prefer, every ending – be it a slow taper to the finish or a sudden moment of overwhelming grief – will naturally rise from its ashes and become a rebirth.
Maybe that’s why I’m so unsettlingly unsentimental about graduating – I’m so eager to find out the untold stories of my future that I feel more excitement than sappiness.
And that’s just what I aim to be: the teller of the untold stories. A good journalist transcribes the account of humanity as it disentangles.
Here’s one story worth telling: that of this year’s Gannon Knight editorial board. When I think of their day planners, threadbare and frayed from so many penciled-in production nights and interviews… when I reflect on their inspiring grit and restorative wit… my head and my heart can’t conceptualize a thank-you worthy enough to give them.
And Frank Garland, our faculty adviser, ignited my passion for journalism with his quiet fire from the moment we first spoke. For that, I am beyond grateful.
The world will always need journalists. Don’t even try to convince me that the job is obsolete, because I won’t hear it. In an age where you can buy your way to the top of a Google search page, we need gatekeepers of information now debatably more than ever.
We need to train young journalists to be versatile, to be unafraid to raise some hell, to understand the power of the pen.
So, to pose the question before you ask: What will I be doing after graduation?
I won’t be just reporting the facts. I’ll be telling the truth.
