Good morning, everyone. Thank you, President Smith, for that kind and wonderful introduction. Thank you to all who have traveled from far and wide to be here with us today. Thank you to those joining virtually, and those joining us in spirit. Thank you to the faculty members and administration who have breathed life into our time at Swarthmore, both in and out of the classroom. Thank you to Environmental Services, Grounds, Lang Performing Arts Center, Arboretum, and Mann Center staff whose behind-the-scenes work does not go unnoticed. Thank you to my family — my parents, my brother, and my cat — whose unwavering support and love have been the foundation for my success at Swarthmore. Thank you to all of you, my fellow classmates. For you all are the lifeblood of this celebration.

Recently, I was combing through pictures on my phone from the past four years at Swarthmore. So I began where many of us might. The beginning. August 2021. When everything seemed to glisten under a thin veil of sweat. When sweltering dorms stood unexplored in the muggy summer heat. When we first glimpsed the regal Arboretum trees in full summer bloom. When we were still in the process of building new morning and nighttime routines in a wholly unfamiliar place. And nascent friendships were starting to emerge from a sea of new faces. Back when college still felt like a summer camp.

I found a photo of myself from that day. I’d imagine many of you have one just like it. Grinning from ear to ear, wearing the famous Swarthmore t-shirt still crisp and radiantly garnet-colored, I was standing outside Dana Hall with a pile of overstuffed suitcases and a face full of hopeful, anxious energy. I was dehydrated and far too overpacked, but ready to embrace this new start in a way I couldn’t quite yet vocalize.

I’m sure we all packed a lot for that day. Mattress toppers and twin XL sheets and metal garbage cans and surge-protected power strips. But what we didn’t realize then was that we were also beginning to pack something else — something slower, subtler, more indistinct: the experiences, lessons, and memories that would shape who we’d become.

Because packing, after all, is about choices. What we bring. What we leave behind. What still serves us. What no longer serves us. And now, as we prepare to leave Swarthmore, we face those same kinds of decisions — but this time, about who we are.

It’s easy to think that what matters most is what felt like big milestones: declaring majors or receiving acceptances into sought-after summer internships. But the real preparation has been in the understated moments in between and the sundry quiet lessons that we learned from those moments along the way.

The good mornings from EVS and Sharples workers on our way to class taught us how to always reach out with kindness. The worms all over Magill fighting their way back to the dirt after it rains taught us the value of perseverance. Late-night library talks until the closing alarm rang in McCabe taught us how to value our friendships above all else. The clatter of dropped cups in Narples followed by celebratory applause taught us the power of making light of difficult situations. The chiming of the Clothier Tower bells marking each quarter hour taught us how to stay grounded in the present, no matter how fast time seemed to speed by. Running out of dining dollars over a month out from the end of the semester taught us how to not manage our personal finances.

Even those incidents that, in the moment, frustrated us. Among them: the Duo push notifications, the firemoose, unreturned Cornell chargers accompanied by badgering emails, 3 a.m. fire alarms, missing the room we wanted during housing selection by just a few minutes, waiting endlessly for SEPTA on weekends when the trains run more infrequently. These experiences provided us with valuable insight into making the best of everything that might be thrown our way. Indeed, these are the moments that will soon succumb to our rose-tinted glasses. We will knit these into the supple tapestry of our time at Swarthmore until they transform, almost unbeknownst to us, from inconvenience to discerning lesson.

But … It’s not just the lessons, it’s also the memories. Even something as simple as the photos on our phones tell our stories. Amongst and in between the selfies and posed group shots are the ones we almost didn’t notice. The ones we thought were insignificant. The blurry pictures of Narples meals and the curiously magnetic cutlery. Off-handed snapshots of friends and white boards while communally “studying.” Scans of math problem sets and class handouts. Accidental pictures of Mertz Lawn covered in colossal dirt mounds or Parrish Beach overtaken by fences. Cursory screenshots of encouraging emails from professors. Even the inadvertent live photos between the posed ones that capture a moment of shared laughter when played aloud. I would invite you to take a moment after this Commencement ceremony is over — degree in hand — to search through your phone for these undeniably special but yet so often disregarded photos. Treasure them. These are the ones that, years from now, will surprise us with their power to bring all the memories flowing back.

Author Kurt Vonnegut put it aptly: “Enjoy the little things in life because one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.” Whereas the grand gestures and moments have undoubtable value, the most magical memories are those that almost fade into a thrumming background noise. It is those quiet memories that have surrounded us with delight and fulfillment — whatever that means to you — throughout our time here. And in doing so, they quickly become some of the most meaningful. They are the ones that taught us how to live, love, and laugh. How to be people for others. How to work hard and, much to the chagrin of many Swarthmore students, play hard, too. How to enjoy the journey and everything in between. Swarthmore has taught us how to move through the world with grace, honor, and integrity. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

And now, we will all begin to pack again — this time for jobs, fellowships, Ph.D. programs, medical schools, gap years, or paths still unknown. But at this juncture, it’s crucial to think carefully about what to bring into this next chapter and ask: What should I pack? I’d invite you to reflect on these seemingly insignificant memories and objects from Swarthmore and notice their now undeniable value. Internalize their importance. Excavate their discreet power. What made them so special? How can I treasure them? What sage but subtle lessons did they teach me? These are the questions that truly matter.

And … When we ask those questions, we are reminded that we haven’t done this alone. What has buoyed us along has been the undying friendships we’ve forged here and the foundation for a life of meaning and purpose we’ve built together. We’ve navigated unprecedented times with fortitude and dexterity. Because Swarthmore didn’t just teach us how to think and learn. It taught us how to be eternally curious and interrogate the grand workings of the world. But perhaps more importantly, to interrogate the minutiae of the world. How to take a step back and smell the meticulously labeled flowers in the Rose Garden. How to uncover issues others overlook and reach out to those people most in need. How to notice, learn from, and act upon the small things. Because, while we may focus tirelessly on the big and extraordinary circumstances, I’d argue it is the countless humble experiences in between that give our lives texture, composition, meaning. When we carry those with us, we aren’t burdened by their weight. We’re freed and inspired by their delicate potency.

So, as we all look forward, be sure to pack those understated moments and memories with care. Tuck them into your suitcase — the soft ones like socks in shoes, the long ones down the sides, the flat ones between the pages of a book. They are what make up the heart of what we take with us. So choose carefully. Pack them tightly. Hold them closer than ever. Thank you and congratulations to the Class of 2025.