Dear Binghamton,
Know that I love you. Know that a bond formed as I headed east on Route 17 before my freshman year, exclaiming as I passed each mile marker. Binghamton 247. With every eight miles came another sign, another exclamation. I drove to Binghamton in late August, just in time for the final orientation, sneaking in right before classes began. I was a wide-eyed kid from Ohio who was to live in Onondaga Hall in College-in-the-Woods and had never stepped foot on campus before.
It was risky, but it was a small risk.
Dear Binghamton,
Know that I love you. Even after your rains soaked through both of my rain coats and waterlogged my first cell phone. Especially after slipping in the mud in the Nature Preserve at least once each academic year. Though I complained, I walked through these interminable winters bundled in a black coat that went past my knees and claimed to remain warm through -20 degrees Fahrenheit. These might be more general loves of mine, but the clouds here are frequently epic. I often look up, turn my eyes to the hills, and know my help will come in the form of a walk down twisting two-lane roads, a camera in hand, elevation equal to and exceeding Glenn G. Bartle Library Tower. With such a landmark, how could I ever be lost?
Dear Binghamton,
Know that I love you and all of the seemingly disparate communities that welcomed me in my time here. Whether these communities arose due to living space (4MX, Hayes), religious observance (Woot, Judaism?), community service (Challah for Hunger and, by extension, the Sodexo staff in Appalachian Collegiate Center who generously shared their space with us), shared classes, days spent in the printmaking studio desperately trying to make good art and, of course, the fallout shelter located at WB-03, also known as Pipe Dream. (Thank you, copy, for tolerating that run-on sentence of all run-on sentences. Feel free to restructure.)
I am continuously thankful that I chose to leave my room and explore, and in my explorations, have found many friends. Some of you were only for a semester, while others have spanned my entire college career. Some of you have been the professors and mentors who challenged me to examine whatever preconceived notions I held dear, to learn more, to do better, and to not fall back on the limits of my comfort zone. I wish I had time to go to more office hours. Some of you have been counselors at the University Counseling Center, helping me navigate anxiety and a sense of low self-worth.
Thank you for your patience and consistently good advice. Some of you, my friends, will be with me long after I don a silly green robe and walk across a stage. In your eyes and in your actions, I see the foundation for a future that is vast and long-lasting. So whether we’re road tripping the Lower 48 this summer, attending each other’s celebrations in five years, or working with each other in 10 years, or 20, I want you to know that I love you and am grateful for everything that being here has given me.