Bryan Stockton/For The Hoya Jo-Leo Carney-Waterton allows his mind to reminisce.

Of all the things that I have lost, I miss my mind the most. I seem to have misplaced it somewhere between the winters of discontent of the darling buds of spring. But yet I still have my memories. My memories take on those endearing qualities. The colorful images of faces, places, triumphs and disappointments are slowly fading from slick mat to dull gray, memories that withstand the tests of time. And so I descend this hilltop as I ascended it four years ago, with a heart welling and swelling with vision and pride and the absence of a mind to tell me otherwise.

In four years I have learned the value of allowing your soul to bend whichever way the wind blows. Whether they be 3 a.m. papers or conversations, they are well with my soul. Whether it be two hours of hot water in the space of four days or four midterms taken in the space of two days, they are well with my soul. Whether it be the clash of liberal and conservative or the madness of a rally, they are well with my soul. Whether they be the desecration of a menorah, the word “nigger” written across a door, the word “fag” on a bathroom stall or Twin Towers that topple and fall, they are all now well with my soul. Whether it be a professor’s enrapturing lecture or a romance that ends with “goodbye,” they too are well with my soul. Because in both these “winters” and these “springs” I have found that my heart speaks when my mouth is too full of guile and my mind is nowhere to be seen.

And though my heart and mind have missed each other over the past four years, they are now enjoying each other’s company as I prepare to leave this place. My mind has become a bit wiser while my heart has become a bit more full. My heart and mind had a conversation some time ago, and the two sat and reminisced, preached, gossiped and sang over all things heavenly and all things sinful about this place called Georgetown University.

Every night before I resign myself to that welcomed place of rest, the walls come back to me, and they make pictures of light and love across their expansive plane. I see every weekend’s trip to bars or maybe Village B as I fight desperately to avoid the tragedy of spending one more night in Lauinger’s waiting belly. I see stacks of books to be read once for a paper worth 10 percent of a final grade, which will be bought back by the bookstore for 1 percent of their “wholesale price.” I see Credit Union lines that lead to the one teller who was trained yesterday by all of his colleagues, who are now seated comfortably behind lock and key. I see that Steward putting an Academy under my door when I am not feeling conservative today, no matter, I’ll just throw it out with the Voice and The Hoya because I am feeling a little Independent today. I see professors who lean on bended palm starring intently as I ask for an extension and then am informed that there will be consequences to pay. I see Hoyas bleeding blue and gray as NCAA games progress. I see saddened eyes waiting for packages in the RHO. I see roommates sleeping outside doors beneath a sign that says “busy, come back tomorrow.” I see blue book grades with `A’s when I did not study and `F’s when I did. And every now and then I see those scenes through watery eyes far too burdened with tears, and my heart is too burdened to say, “Thank You, Lord,” for the chance to have lived it all. And those same walls seem to say, “Wasn’t yesterday a better day?” and I am inclined to agree.

But since I have slowly found my mind again, I have also found a heart that springs with eternal hope and joy. Not because this chapter of my life is now drawing to a close, but because of the people who played roles within it. You who have given me comfort in the shade of your smile and offered me a drink from the well of your soul – thank you. I now think, feel, love and hope for redemption’s end and for a chance at change. The breadth of my Georgetown experience will be a single threat sewn between my soul, all of humanity but more specifically the class of ’02, wherever it may be. I sew it with the vision of a liberty that screams through every unrighteous knell. A thread sewn during my life on the Hilltop. A thread sewn when I realized that of all the things that I had lost, I missed my mind the most – and then I found it again.

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