Goodbye!

When I was in grade school, we used literature books published by Prentice Hall. They were full of short stories and essays. We typically had to read at most about 1/5 of them, but I normally read all of them anyway. One of the extra readings that I particularly remember is from ninth grade: "Sayonara" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (an excerpt from her book "North to the Orient"). It is an essay about saying goodbye that looks at what we are really saying when we say goodbye in different ways. Goodbye (short for God be with you) and Adios are blessings and wishes for the protection of those who are leaving (Farewell and Slan are non-religious wishes for things to go well). Auf Wiedersehen, Au Revoir, and such sayings are a statement of hope that the time of separation will be short. But Sayonara means "since it must be so." It isn't a statement of hopes or expectations, it is a simple acceptance of what is happening. It is, according to Mrs. Lindbergh, the most beautiful of all goodbyes. I don't entirely agree with this, as I think it depends on the situation.

As a student for the past 12 years, I have watched many people graduate and leave. Sometimes the blessings seem appropriate (people going off to grad school or a job). Sometimes I really do expect the goodbye to be temporary and using one of those forms is best (summer jobs and short breaks). I can only think of a few examples where I really felt that Sayonara would have been most appropriate (mostly people leaving for medical reasons).

I first recalled this essay when breaking up for the first time. Sayonara had never seemed as appropriate as it did then. After a lengthy period of trouble in our relationship, it was clear that things were over. "Since it must be so" is a good description of how I felt about it. Two and a half months of happiness followed by six weeks of uncertain misery led to me understanding that we wanted different things. Sayonara, an acceptance of reality as it is rather than as we want it to be. And as we broke up, we agreed that we would remain friends, which is the part that mattered most to me.

This summer I again thought of this essay. My time at MIT is drawing to an end, and it is time to move on to the next part of my life. But how can you say goodbye to an institution? I have been at MIT for about two fifths of my life, nearly twice as long as I have been anywhere else. For so many years, MIT has been my home. I have learned all the twists and turns of the hallways, where the bathrooms and water fountains are, and how to quickly get between points even when classes are switching. I have explored the innermost parts of the buildings and found the places of true beauty on campus. MIT has taught me my limits. I have watched the campus grow and change as new buildings were added and old ones were renovated. I have watched the world be completely transformed while I hid in the safety of MIT's academic halls. There are many stories I have made about the things I did and failed to do at MIT.

But now it comes to an end. I don't expect to be back, so some variant of "until later" wouldn't be right. And I don't think that blessing MIT makes any sense. But sayonara isn't right either. There is an edge of sadness in that expression. It suggests a premature parting. I want something more like 2 Timothy 4:7 - "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." I have done what I came to do, and MIT has little more to offer me. I also have little more to offer to MIT. It is time to go, because I am done. This is not a time for saying "since it must be so." There is no significant difference between reality as it is and reality as I wish it could be. I have been at MIT for long enough; I have done what I came to do. I suppose the appropriate thing to say is "Thank you."

There is another parting in my life right now. Someone I have been friends with for a long time is leaving. We were for a while very close and for a while very distant, but in the past few months our friendship has been pretty much right where I wanted it. And now, almost exactly 6 Martian years from when we first met, she is moving halfway across the country with her family. They have an opportunity which is too good to pass up. And as much as I would like to continue seeing them regularly, I want even more to see them continuing to succeed in life. This is a situation where the proper goodbye really is Farewell, Slan, Good Luck. And so to Erin, Ben, and Blaise, I have this to say:

Slan go foill. Go raibh mile maith agaibh. We will miss you, but we wish you well. Good luck in North Dakota.