This is the end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend, the end.” The lyrics for “The End” by The Doors have swum to the forefront of my mind only a few times in my life.
The first time was when I visited Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris in May. For nearly an hour, I searched for Jim Morrison’s grave, and the map didn’t help.
At last I found him, hidden between two cobblestone paths. There was no flashing sign, but only a simple headstone with the inscription “true to his own spirit” written in Greek.
Lately the 12-minute tune has answered its encore in my subconcious concert hall, maybe because I’m near the end of my undergraduate career at Gannon.
I’ve tried my best to avoid thinking about it for the past month as the last grains of sand sink from the top bulb of the hourglass.
The most sobering thought, though, is knowing I wouldn’t be able to spend time, chat or even say goodbye to each friend I’ve made here.
I’ve got too much end-of-semester work to do, my career search has still not yielded a job, and the weather is improving right at the time when I cannot fully enjoy it.
I can only hope I’ll receive more of those little prods to go left one day, instead of right, sending me bumping into one of those friends I’d like to leave with my best wishes.
But as to how I’ll leave Gannon, and by extension, Erie, remains to be seen.
I need a change of scenery, whether it’s back home in Cleveland or anywhere with less wind and without meteorologists needing to use a Magic 8 Ball for their weather predictions.
I’ve considered if my exit will bear any resemblance to how some TV sitcoms have ended.
I could take in my surroundings one last time and then walk off into the shadows like Sam Malone.
Perhaps I’ll receive a surprise gesture from a friend I’ve made, a unique way to say goodbye without stumbling over the words. Just like B.J. Hunicutt leaving the rocks for Hawkeye to see from the chopper.
Or maybe I can take a page out of the Huxtables’ book and dance to wherever the music takes me.
Fortunately for me, Cleveland is west of Erie. That means I could leave in the evening and ride off into the sunset.
My apologies if any students need to drive back toward Buffalo. Your departure wouldn’t be featured in a Western.
I came to this university to do, well, what every 18-year-old wants to do: discover who they really are. I think I’ve achieved that, even if I had to jump ship from the health sciences and grab the humanities life preserver.
I’m swimming stronger now.
Hopefully, these won’t be the last words I write. My goal is that the words that began on this page will generate more readers who were inspired by this columnist’s quest to be “true to his own spirit.”
