Carlin Steere ’25 at Stonehenge during her year in the Kenyon-Exeter Program.
In early April, I pressed the thumb of my left hand against the latch of Cromwell Cottage’s black handle and pulled the wood door open. I smoothed my name tag onto my shirt, letting out a breath of relief. I had submitted my English honors thesis a week or so before, and was looking forward to celebrating over quesadillas, iced tea and camaraderie at a senior dinner hosted by President Kornfeld that evening.
My friends and I joke that everyone knows everyone here — that Kenyon is so small that I know the faces of those in my class, but learn more names every day. I had imagined that by this time, I would know them all, and while I did know most of the attendees, I had first conversations with some with whom I had yet to interact. Still, it didn’t feel like we were worlds apart. Each of us has had similar experiences; after all, we have spent the last four years together. We sipped our beverages and scooped fruit onto small appetizer plates — surrounded by familiar faces, even as we traded names for the first time.
“When is your recital again?” a friend of mine attending the same dinner asked, cutting into a bite-sized piece of macaroni and cheese with the side of her fork.
“Too soon,” I replied with a smile.
My upcoming Senior Voice Recital seemed too close at the moment, and I’d had some pre-concert jitters at a vocal lesson that afternoon. Sure, I had been singing for years and solidified everything with my beloved vocal coach Karolyn Lee Gholston. But I wasn’t thinking about all the recitals, juries, lessons I’ve had over the past four years. I was thinking about how this recital meant my time as an undergraduate student here was rapidly coming to an end, and how I wasn't ready to let go yet.
I want to remember everything. I want to savor walking along the Kokosing Gap Trail, or through the paths weaving throughout the Brown Family Environmental Center with a notebook and small pencil in the back pocket of my jean shorts, as my first-year creative writing professor once advised.
I want to keep close the memories of late-night “How I Met Your Mother” marathons, breaking personal records at the Lowry Center and geeking out over Daphne Du Maurier’s gothic novel “Rebecca.”
Growing up as an only child in a small Connecticut town, I led a mostly introverted life. Kenyon offered me the chance to meet others with like-minded interests, to practice connecting with others, and to break out of my shell. Kenyon also encouraged me to reach beyond Gambier in an effort to engage with the world at large, whether it was through my sophomore internship with Ariel-Foundation Park, or living in the United Kingdom for the Kenyon-Exeter Program during my junior year.
In Mount Vernon and Exeter, I made it my mission to form relationships with others outside of the Kenyon bubble, and sought to blend these different spheres. Attending a senior dinner at the president’s house allowed me to use my voice, to speak with those I know and start new conversations with those I had yet to meet.
Kenyon is a special place. I felt it during my tour of campus in 2021, a week or so before decision day, when a dedicated former student-turned-admissions director strolled me through the quiet campus, spring foliage budding, with my parents in tow. For me, Kenyon is also formative. It has given me the gift of an incredible education and the encouragement to put this education to use.
I have read more than I ever thought possible, and have written nearly as much. Yet it is not enough — and I mean this in the most positive way possible. I will continue to search for new pieces of literature, for more connections with my peers and for creative pathways to express myself. I will continue to seek out a cappella concerts, craft nights and art museums. This is why I chose Kenyon. This is how it will live in me after I don my cap and gown and march down Middle Path at Commencement.
My time as an undergraduate student amounts to far more than a sheet of paper. It has shaped me to be the curious, persistent young adult I am. For this, I am beyond grateful.
Farewell, Old Kenyon. Not forever, no. Just until Reunion.