Mr. Andrew Donacik's Academic Convocation Address

Delivered by Mr. Andrew Donacik at the Academic Convocation, Friday, September 7, 2012

The Pursuit of Excellence The topic I propose for your consideration is excellence; in particular, our pursuit of excellence. The word excellence is used glibly in a broad spectrum of contexts; so much so, in fact, that I hesitate to define it for you. I will abdicate my teaching responsibility, consequently, and let you do that, for good reason: I hope you will see why later. But what I will do is offer two points—only two here, although you probably could summon far more—two points that amplify the pursuit of excellence in life.

A preparatory qualifier should introduce my remarks. It is this: what I intend to say about excellence might veer dangerously close to cliché, statements that tend to induce eye rolls and yawns because they have been sanded smooth of sharp meaning. But cliché is rooted sometimes in reality and, consequently, bears latent value that deserves reconsideration through the view of a new prism, a fresh perspective. I encourage you to locate this fresh perspective with an open mind.

So I offer you two points on the pursuit of excellence. Or, more exactly, two lives: a long‐distance runner and an astronaut.

First, the long‐distance runner. I give you John Tuttle, hailing from upstate New York, who was a prominent long‐distance runner who represented the United States in the marathon at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. Two episodes in Tuttle’s story might give us pause. The first is Tuttle’s simple, perhaps even austere, lifestyle after college: focused on forging a vocation in professional running, Tuttle lived in a trailer for $50 rent each month. After winning his first marathon in 1983, which brought a handsome sum of $2,000, Tuttle exulted, “I’ve got three years’ rent. I’m set.”

What is your standard of excellence? What is your passion? Find it, whatever it is, allowing your imagination to roam restlessly, unleashed and free. When you find it, visualize it every day, so that it seeps into you, right down to the very marrow of your bones. You must unconditionally believe, to the point that you are willing to sacrifice, to test the extent of your breaking point, like Tuttle did in his post‐ collegiate years. A second episode from Tuttle’s life merits our consideration: the practice of visualization that Tuttle so cherished to fuel his own pursuit of excellence.

In the year before the 1984 Olympic marathon trial, the race where Tuttle finished a surprising third to claim his spot on the Olympic team, Tuttle would conscientiously envision mile 24, where he would see himself—as if he were watching a movie on a screen—executing a tactical move to separate himself from the lead pack of runners and surge into the lead. Tuttle played out this scene, the scene at mile 24, daily for about a year. And when mile 24 did come in the actual race? Tuttle was remarkably, instinctively ready—his surge unfolded as naturally and easily as the process of lacing one’s shoes.

Envision your own standard of excellence. Incorporate visualization into the fabric of your daily routine.

Do you want to touch down on Mars? This question is pliant—you can take it either literally or figuratively. I participated in last June’s Christian service project in Belize. Belize, a wonderful country of rich culture and gracious people, was, quite expectedly, foreign to me, a newcomer. But Mars, can you imagine it? Now that is foreign, really foreign! The ultimate of foreign experiences. Perhaps in 40 or 50 years, human beings will elegantly gambol over the terrain of Mars: I, for one, hope in my heart of hearts that I am still on this earthly plane when we humans make direct contact with the Martian surface.

Do you want to touch down on Mars? Go for it. Truly. Literally. If you take this question literally, then consider procuring a degree in physics or aerospace engineering; also, pursue advance training as a pilot. But if the question is figurative to you—and this interpretation is absolutely, positively agreeable‐‐ then visualize your own Mars, whatever that is for you. Never, never ever, underestimate the power and beauty of the human mind: it can propel you to your own Mars.

Now for the second life, the astronaut. I hold up to you Sally Ride, the first American woman in space.

In 1983, Ride was part of the crew that circled the Earth in the space shuttle Challenger. We celebrate Ride’s life—Ride died in June without advance media notice—as not only a great American, but, more importantly, as a great human being. Her story is undeniably edifying, offering us profound insights about your own pursuit of excellence.

Before plumbing details in Ride’s life, a qualifier is in order. Let’s be real: the pursuit of excellence will probably not take you along a straight, gilded road. The road will probably snake back and forth, sometimes leading you into dark, uncertain territory. Ride tells us that faith in yourself and faith in your own standard of excellence are crucially important: once you identify your standard of excellence, you owe your own dignity to stick to that standard with clinging tenacity, with steely grip, if you earnestly believe that it is truth for you.

Ride was a Stanford student who majored in physics and English. Wow. She was smart, enormously smart. But Ride’s road was not straight. No surprise here. Ride ended up at Stanford after spending a year at Swarthmore in Pennsylvania; Ride, a California native, was homesick during her one year at Swarthmore: she pined for her native West Coast culture. But once back on her California turf, Ride not only excelled in the classroom, but also in Division 1 athletics: Ride was Stanford’s top player on the women’s team. Ride was so good on the court that she attracted the attention of tennis great Billie Jean King, whose name adorns the title of the tennis center in Flushing, Queens where the U.S. Open is annually played. King offered this recommendation to Ride: withdraw from school and pursue professional tennis as a full‐time career. Ride, however, demurred, rejecting the idea; she saw her life playing out differently, and she remained adamant about staying her course.

So Ride teaches us that sometimes we have to make decisions—expect them unavoidably to be gut‐ wrenchingly hard—in order to remain faithful, not only to our standard of excellence, but also to ourselves. She teaches us a second tenet that is equally valuable. It is this. The story of humanity is a

tale of inherited tradition and assumptions. To break free of such calcified molds requires—perhaps demands—the courage to question Why? Why this way of thinking? Why this assumption? What if I were to try this? I wonder . . . hmmm?

Do you have the courage to question Why? Sally Ride did. And with unwavering faith in herself and her pursuit of excellence. She was the rare woman majoring in physics, at the time a field of academe dominated by men. Ride’s entrance into physics was another sturdy mallet strike that sent a gender barrier crumbling to the ground. She was an astronaut who pressed forward fearlessly yet graciously toward the Challenger mission, undeterred by sexist chauvinism that blanketed her while on the way.

Ride, Sally, ride. And did she ever. Not only was Sally Ride the first American woman in space, but at 32, she was the youngest astronaut as well.

In sum, I leave you with two ideas composing the foundation of our pursuit of excellence. The first is this: We must search, we must quest, for our own unique standard, our own Mars, so to speak. And once we find it, our personal truth, we must visualize it regularly, so that our belief in it remains unshakeable. Our belief must be so profoundly strong that it blends inseparably with the very fibers of our physical nature. Our belief must be who we are. Second: Remain faithful to your standard of excellence, stay the course, even when your road inevitably becomes curvy or dark. As you journey along your road, locate the mind‐set of the fearless questioner. Challenge those dusty artifacts that senselessly inhibit human growth and the promotion of justice. Muster your own personal courage to embrace the question Why?