Being a university senior is kind of like being a superhero.
It’s kind of like being a superhero in the first few frames of the superhero-in-training montage, where said hero still has no idea how to use her powers and does embarrassing things like slamming into billboards or falling off bridges, and she survives on pure dumb luck, and it’s a good thing that her homemade pyjama-style costume includes a mask, because it’s embarrassing for everyone involved.
By the time you hit senior year, you have a decent grasp on how some things work, and you’ve spent four years getting pumped full of new skills and ideas, and you’re ready to go out and save the world—but you also have no practice in most of anything, and you’re still more or less totally unprepared for the challenges (and, obviously, supervillains) coming at you. But you’re also an emerging adult, so you have this overdeveloped sense of your own prowess, which means you feel completely cool taking on your arch-nemesis supervillain immediately, despite being woefully unprepared to fight an evil that powerful.
And, of course, there are doubts. Clashing with the rash determination and blind confidence, there’s a certainty that you’re still just a normal human—that four years of training and preparation haven’t actually turned you into anything special, and that when you jump off that building, you won’t fly, but crash to the pavement, and people will crowd around to get a glimpse of your failure and shake their heads over your delusion that you could do anything special.
But here’s the thing about superheroes: they try anyway.
They fall off buildings, but they get back up again. They take a punch that colours the whole page yellow and red behind the massive, “WHAM!” and they keep coming anyway. They believe in something, and they fight for it in every frame. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it’s lonely. And yet, you’ll notice, there’s always someone else ready to join the fight against injustice and oppression.
And even when it feels like you’re alone and powerless, when the giant robot or power-hungry alien or vengeful mutant is a hundred times stronger than you are, there’s always hope, and there’s always someone the better for it. If you’re too late to stop the bridge collapsing, you may still be able to shield that little girl from the flying rubble. There’s always a loss, but there’s always a victory, too.
So, seniors, as we finish this training and head toward that cap-and-gown supersuit, it’s okay to feel powerless and powerful all at the same time. It’s okay to overestimate our new skills and underestimate our impact. The excitement, the terror, the impatience—it’s all part of the experience.
We feel silly and small now, but it isn’t about the number of people pointing at the sky and speculating on our bird-like or plane-like nature—it isn’t about the good-guy-beats-bad-guy frame at the end—it’s about the attempt. It’s about knowing the odds and walking in anyway, because we refuse to sit back and watch the world fall apart if there’s anything we can do to save it.