From the Desk Of Dr. Autumn A. Graves

Excerpt of Senior Address to the Class of 2025

This is normally a spot where I would share some remarks on 2024-25, which was full of remarkable moments in the 115th year of the School. It is hard to imagine, however, being able to offer words of wisdom and reflection more memorable than our own Class of 2025 Commencement speaker, James Buford ’25. I offer you a transcript of his speech, a poignant reminder to us all to invest in and elevate others and honor the present with complete attention. — AAG

By James Buford '25

Maybe it’s the uncertainty — the pressure to make the right choices, build meaningful relationships, and step into adult responsibilities. The future feels overwhelming, and the idea of “real life” can be daunting.

Or, is it? Upon reflection I find that this illusion of “real life” starting tomorrow confuses me.

This is real life. And that’s the point. Real life is not what happens the moment we get our diploma. It’s what has already been happening — quietly, constantly, sometimes invisibly — for the last four, seven, 10, 12, 17, 18, possibly 20 years. Real life is what was happening on those long days when you showed up in this “unholy trinity” state of tired, confused, overwhelmed, and still sat down to learn anyway. Real life was there during extra office hours, eighth grade exhibitions, outdoor Chapels, seeing practices and rehearsals pay off, hiding from Timmy and Ryan during Senior Assassin, learning to drive, getting a job. During success and triumph, disappointment and misery.

There’s a myth that life starts later. After college. After the job. After you “figure it all out.” Well first, who knows when we’ll “figure it all out.” And second, in all honesty, life has felt pretty real, maybe the most real, at this school, with these people, and you all.

And the more I look to the future, the closer I become with the past — the first grade water party, marveling at mummification, Burke’s rendition of “Rainbow Connection” in the voice of Kermit the Frog.

We’ve already started living. And we’ve already started choosing what kind of person we want to be.

The truth is: we are becoming someone every single day. With every decision. With every response to boredom, stress, new achievements, disappointment, huge wins, or failure. We are shaping ourselves with what we give our attention to, with the way we speak to others, and with the way we speak to ourselves when no one is listening. We’ve been told to chase success. But success is not a fixed point. We never really arrive at it. It moves. It stretches. And sometimes it disappears entirely. If we de fine our lives only by how much we achieve we will always be chasing. Never arriving. But if we define our lives by what we pay attention to — by how fully we show up in ordinary moments — we begin to live now, not later. Real life is made of milestones.

And also of mornings. Commutes. Sidewalks. Long lines. Performing in talent shows, poetry festivals, pandemics, good food, maybe faith, state championships, arts, greeting Ms. Meney for the hundredth time or strangers for the first.

The things we barely notice — until one day, like today, we do.

That noticing is everything.

Because the easiest thing in the world is to become numb. To stop seeing people as people. To stop listening because we already think we know. To build walls around our empathy. And no one will call us out for it. In fact, the world will often reward us for going numb — because numb people are efficient. Quiet. Insensitive. They keep moving without stopping to feel anything…functioning, not living. They float through their days never really seeing the beauty — or the pain — right in front of them.

So I’m not going to tell you to follow your dreams. I’m going to tell you something harder. I’m going to challenge you. I’m going to ask you to stay awake. To notice things. To resist the quiet temptation to check out of your own life. Because this is real life. This is real life.

Notice the friend who always asks how you’re really doing. Notice how AJ was just as lively and caring on Zoom as they are in person. Notice Colin’s drive. Notice the deer on Garth Road which hit you twice (that’s a personal one). Notice when you’re wrong, and learn from it. Notice when you’re right, and stay humble about it. Notice the sky. Sofia’s music. Sanaa’s drawing. Sammy’s smile. The way your stomach flips when something feels real. The way it sinks when something’s not.

Because again, we don’t need to have our lives figured out. In fact, it might work out better if we don’t. Because the future doesn’t exist. The only thing that exists is now and our memory of what happened in the past. But we do need to show up for it — eyes open, heart engaged, present. Keep yourself open to the possibilities you haven’t even thought of or know exist.

Because this is real life. Not the highlight reel. Not the version we curate for others. The messy, beautiful, exhausting, bustling version that we’re in right now.

And someday — five, 10, 20 years from now — we’ll look back. What we’ll remember is how it all felt. We’ll remember the people. Mr. Bartholomew’s humor, Brynn’s quiet compassion, Kelsey’s kindness, Mr. Clark’s wisdom, Austin’s humility, Brody’s passion, Mr. Fisher’s friendship and chicken fingers. We’ll remember, not because the moments were big, but because we were awake for them.

So if I leave you with anything, let it be this: Stay awake to your own life. Because when our focus shifts from...

“Where will we go?” to “Look where we have come from,”

“What will we do?” to “Look what we have already accomplished,”

“How will we get there?” to “Look how far we’ve reached,”

...the here and now feels pretty great. And it should.

Move forward with ambition, yes, but also with gratitude. Carry with you the lessons of this place, the imprint of those who have shaped your path, and the memories — both profound and quiet — that define this chapter. They are, in the end, what we truly have. To have grown up at this school together is a gift, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Truly. Take this gift with you and share it with others.

Not everything will be easy. Not everything will be fair. But it will always, always be real. And if you’re paying attention, that’s more than enough.

Congratulations, Class of 2025. This is not the beginning of something. It’s the continuation of everything. Cheers to us. Let’s celebrate! Thank you all.