Our Wild and Precious Time at Cate

By Eswyn Gray '23

About the Baccalaureate Ceremony

Baccalaureate is an old ritual that came to this country from Britain. The term comes from the Latin “Bacca” – meaning “berry” – and “lauri” –referencing the laurels that were used to adorn those who earned their degrees.

Driving up Heartbreak Hill on move-in day, I could feel my stomach churning with nerves. I was among the first freshmen to arrive on campus, so the seniors, bursting with energy, welcomed my family and showed us to my dorm, '25 House. While I was beginning to unpack my bins and boxes as my roommate, Ada, showed up with her parents – and her plants.

As she filled her side of the room with knickknacks and hung up her LA subway maps and bright-colored film posters, I pulled out three gold frames to hang on my wall. Each contained pictures of a pastel landscape and a quote from poet Mary Oliver. I think these words were meant to ground me in my time at Cate.

What I enjoy about Mary Oliver is that she writes about the simple things she loves: nature, hummingbirds, storms, bright wildflowers, her dogs, and solitary walks in the wild. Her passion lies in the natural world rather than the human one.

In one of the three frames, the quote read, “Instructions for living a life: pay attention, be astonished, tell about it.”

This frame hung on the left side of the wall by my bed. The one hanging on the right reads, “It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

For the third frame, I hung it in the middle because I loved it the most. This one is a question. “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I think this quote stuck with me the most because, at 14, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I thought maybe my time at Cate would help me answer this question. But now, after having these quotes hanging in my dorm rooms all four years, I can honestly say… I still can’t answer Mary Oliver’s burning question, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Now that we’re graduating, though, many people, perhaps our parents, grandparents, teachers, or little siblings, hope we have some answers to a question like this. There is an expectation that it’s time for us to go out into the world with conviction and tell them what we plan to do, then do it.

And while I can’t come up with an answer that feels satisfying for me right now, I can share with you how my time at Cate has helped me to develop an appreciation for why life is wild and precious.

By the spring of freshman year, the “wildness” of life and the pandemic brought me Zoom physics lab challenges and Humanities discussions on a rectangular computer screen instead of sitting around the Harkness table with my classmates. I came to Cate hoping to connect with people from all over the world. The wild thing is that I found myself laughing and talking with friends in separate cities, states, countries, and sometimes on different continents – in my own room, at home.

For me, wild now means so much more than just rivers, mountain hikes, migrating geese, and the wonder of the natural world. For me, wild now means the untameness of life, people, places, and interrupted dreams.

Having made it through these wild and challenging four years, I’m proud of myself, but I’m more proud of my class. The fact that we are here shows that we endured. But we did more than that. We also created something special. Despite months lost to distance and disconnection, we came back. We got to know each other again, and we built a bond.

We met at sunset bench to talk and watch the sun dip into the ocean, we danced in nice clothes at formal events and in character on stage for convocations and musicals, we played bingo with seniors in our Santa Barbara community, we won powderpuff twice in a row, and just a week ago, students from senior Biology classes witnessed something magical

– hundreds of dolphins swimming alongside our boat on a trip to Santa Rosa Island.

Perhaps the challenges we faced did not drive us apart but brought us together in a deep and meaningful way. The experience was wild and unpredictable, but there’s beauty in coming through to the other side. So, as we go out into the world, I know from my time with the Class of 2023 that we are ready for the wildness and that we are bold enough to embrace it.

Mary Oliver’s question also forces us to examine how we will live our “precious” lives.

I think she used this word because life is only so long – it eventually ends. It’s kind of like Cate in this way. We have four years; that’s it. At Cate, as in life, you learn lessons that only come after you’ve struggled and failed. You meet people who support you and love you and whom, inevitably, you will have to leave and say goodbye to someday. And you make memories that you take with you forever. Perhaps this is why we often get anxious when we don’t know exactly what we want to do with our lives. It’s because we only have so much time to try and make an impact or reach our goals.

But not knowing how much time we have is what makes each day even more important. Because of that preciousness, I think we should try not to take the small things for granted.

Like seeing Nicole’s smile and knowing everything you were worried about will be okay, or improvising with Jae at the Coffee House and letting the music sweep you up, or hearing Myla’s reviews on a book or poem, or when Tati and Liz take you to see the view from Shepard Mesa, and it’s so beautiful and vast, you feel small but somehow not insignificant.

It’s also like being able to say hi to everyone you cross paths with on your way to class because Cate is so tight-knit, or opening your blinds every morning to a view of the ocean and feeling so grateful, or spending time with your advisory every Tuesday, or when Mr. Williams laughs, and you laugh too, or when you hug your classmate after their Servons talk, and they squeeze you back a little tighter.

Life is precious because it is fragile, it is short, and it ends. That’s why it’s important to find what brings you joy and the things that you love.

The question that has hung on my wall for four years is actually from “Poem 133: The Summer Day.” The latter half moves me, so I’ll read it for you now. Mary Oliver writes, I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

To me, in this part of the poem, Mary Oliver talks about not really knowing how to pray in conventional ways in order to reflect on existence. But what she does know is how to kneel in the grass, how to take a stroll through the fields, and how to be idle and present. That is her solace. That is her form of prayer.

I, like Mary Oliver, don’t always know exactly what a prayer is or the right one for this moment. I don’t know how to fully express my gratitude for the people here and the time I spent with them. But when faced with the difficulty of letting it all go, I know I’ll find peace in having known you – the Class of 2023. In a turbulent world, it’s important to find stillness and calm with people who know you and care about you. That is what you have all been to me and what we have been to each other.

My time with you was one wild and precious adventure, and I will cherish you all forever and this place we leave behind. Thank you.