Leaving
“Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.” (Joanna Walsh)
The blossoming of jacarandas with their tangled purple carpets is always an omen. It signifies exams and it heralds departures. Bittersweet, it announces a time to let go, of farewells, and the ultimate dance of the in between … the capricious precipice and tightrope walk between the safety net of school and the unfurling lure of a world bigger than the imagination.
It is frightening and fabulous, all at once. It is in this swinging grief cycle that parents and school-leavers vacillate, invariably out of synch with one another, both relishing the finish line and fearing it. No-one ever warned us as parents that joy and grieving could be so entwined and so sharp in their contrast.
This is the moment you have worked towards, anticipated and … now it’s here. Some are bravely celebrating its arrival. Perhaps others, a little like I did more than a decade ago, find yourself unprepared for the reality.
Independence – the end game for us all in the business of raising adolescents, is messy, hard-fought, and not without its complications. The post-school world presents freedoms that eliminate parental control with an abruptness that can take our breath away.
It is no surprise that we thirst to feel wanted, just for a little longer. We would like to regain the equilibrium of the pre-adolescent state, even just for a moment: wouldn’t we?
It’s been a long journey from big backpacks, Velcro shoes and hats able to block out every ray of sunshine, to P Plates, trips away with friends and the lure of post-school life. ‘A blink of an eye’, is the cliché that comes to mind, as we look at photographs that represent each of these phases.
Finishing school is both poignant with promise and, at times, wrought with sadness. It is, after all, one of the ultimate departures. Lunch boxes, end of term drop offs and pick-ups, the scramble to construct a fancy-dress costume at a minute’s notice, late night assignments, lost bags, found bags, computer trouble and the quest for independence all collide messily.
Somewhere, somehow, in the midst of the mire that is childhood and adolescence, there is growth in abundance. Yet, it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it just feels like loss.
Always, at this point in a year, as our Seniors take their leave, reflections stick deeply with all who have crossed their paths. We forgive and forget the challenging moments, landing instead, on the all-encompassing journey, making the words of Shakespeare: “nothing became [her] in this [Fairholme] life, like the leaving of it” high jump to life.
Suddenly, the small moments loom large. For boarding supervisors, memories of dorm rooms filled with the detritus of school life become cute rather than frustrating. Teachers think fondly on the exuberance of some or the reticence of others. United, all see growth – big as an oak tree and collectively nod in alignment – “see how far they have come, see how far they have to go,” they muse.
This is the pause. The moment in between. The suspenseful middle.
Our seniors are stepping across the threshold of safety, certainty, and routine … some at a sprint, some more hesitantly, but they are all taking their leave into the tantalizing world beyond.
One last exam. One last stroll through G Block corridor. One last Assembly. One last wearing of the tartan. That’s how it goes, each and every year. Parents ask, “is it sad for you too?” And it is. Every time. Like you, we are torn between letting go and holding on for one more last.
Thank you for sharing your daughters with us. Thank you for your patience with us, in the tough times, the learning times, the growth times: we will miss you too. But we know that life moves on with unerring speed, and that for now, these young women will move forward with just a few glances backwards from whence they have come.
It will be later, perhaps years later, that a life moment will nudge them back into this space, to connect with their Fairholme sisterhood because, in the words of, Susie Anderson, in her prophetic poem, departure, “they will always have somewhere to return,” and thus it is important that they “don’t forget to take place with [them]” as they go.
“Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.” (Joanna Walsh)
Dr Linda Evans | Principal
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