By AUSTIN E. SCOTT
May 13, 2006

Like most Abbey grads, I didn’t grow up dreaming of getting a degree from Belmont Abbey. There was no football team to follow as a kid, and I didn’t really know anyone who’d ever gone to school here. I wasn’t really looking for a small college, and I eventually realized I only wanted out of state because my parents had always told me that was the ideal.

I came here because it was the most intriguing of my options: I could compete on a team, and I’d still be able to write and sing. When my dad and I visited four years ago, we of course found the campus to be beautiful. Outside of all that, I took a chance coming here. My idea was simple: keep doing everything I love doing, only do it better. With every important thing I didn’t do well, find a fix.

In a sense, I didn’t do what I came here to do. I quickly found that, even with the most simple of academic tasks, I’m still one of the worst procrastinators I’ve met. Basically, I didn’t accomplish what I swore to myself and my family that I would: I didn’t demonstrate that my studies were my top priority. However, the huge question mark that made up most of what I knew about the Abbey has been wholly filled with the most pleasant of surprises and the most rare of opportunities. For everything I’ve done right at the Abbey, someone has been right behind me offering support. Without these people, I have no doubt I’d be utterly lost.

I’ll leave this place with a hearty collection of stories. Stories of parties, races, solos, and road trips, some school-sponsored and those more spontaneous. I’ve made friends who are such kindred spirits we find we have the same ideas about life even before we realize we have the same interests (Kevin). I’ve learned from a hundred conversations on the monastery porch (Sean). And, I’ve even learned from a hundred arguments with some friends (Ben).

I’m an only child, and I learned to appreciate a roommate (Brendan, Jason). And, I learned you can talk about South Park and the Bible in the same night with the same person (Tom). I’ve yet to find an interest without an accompanying dedicated monk to discuss it with over a drink or a milkshake, on a run, or over a late night pizza. It’s amazing how great you suddenly think every homily is when you’re friends with the men giving them. And, why doesn’t it feel weird to run into your professor jogging the trail just outside your room in the morning, or having a class meet in the apartments? It sure would’ve in high school. It also feels natural to sit with Greeks some meals, and the Dean the next, to play ping pong with someone fifty years older than you, because you called “winner” and he was it. It feels right watching Notre Dame day games in the monastery and night games in the apartments.

I call this place a second home because I find comfort here from both my surroundings and the people who make up the Abbey community. I call those people a second family because, like with my parents and grandparents, I count myself lucky to find my heroes are folks I also get to spend most of my time around. Many extraordinary Abbey professors go beyond their courses and office hours on campus. I knew Dr. Jones, Sr. Jane, and Mr. Pitt from chorus, and knew a dozen things we all enjoyed conversing about, all long before I knew them in the classroom.

The Benedictine vow of stability, which must require a load of dedication, seems to have a number of practical benefits. One of those for the students is that you sometimesget the unusual learning experience of having a professor for a course who taught one of your other professors, who in turn, taught one of your other professors. I’m unlikely to forget the value of traveling, but I’ve learned you don’t usually have to go far when searching for what’s exciting and new, or when looking for a quiet place to retreat, think, and reflect. On this five-hundred acre campus, stimulation for thoughts never runs low, and I feel the Abbey has me pointed down the right path. Stumbling may still be my most frequent method of discovery, but at least I’m not going to have to move all the time to discover new things around me.

Perspective can’t be understated here. Obviously, I now know what I do and don’t miss back in Florida. I know I’ve spent four years seven-hundred miles away from everything I knew my first eighteen years, and I still love doing many of the same things. Like with the many generations who’ve come before us here, and those who’ll follow us, the Abbey continues the introduction to the world that our families started. Like our dads teaching us how to ride our bikes, we get to the end of the street and realize we’re going to be just fine even though there’s nobody holding on anymore. Not that, as a teenager, I would’ve asked for help. Fortunately, we sign up for it because we know people want to see that we’ve had it before they start giving us paychecks.

What more important time in my life could there have been to have such great mentors and friends, and such great experiences? I doubt my story’s unusual. I would make the decision to come here all over again a hundred times, and the biggest reasons would be the hundred people I’d never met when I made the decision that first time. Based on what we’ve learned here, and the directions we’re headed in, I’m going to try to never forget the difference between holding to core values and being open to further formation -- both trademark Abbey lessons. Now more than ever, the world seems small and not very mysterious. But, one thing I’ve learned from experience here: there’s still a lot more out there waiting for us.

Good luck to my classmates, and thanks to Dr. Harris, Dr. McGee, my family, and friends.