Sixth Former Catherine Kelley, of Portsmouth, Rhode Island, addressed the School community at Church Assembly on Thursday, April 6, 2017. Kate spoke about her time at Portsmouth Abbey, through the lens of astronomy, a longtime interest of hers.
It was a regular day. Until I peeked into my mailbox to see the Portsmouth Abbey letterhead lying forebodingly within. Part of me expected it to be an expulsion letter for being out of dress code the day before. But no, it was worse: an "invitation" to deliver a Church Talk. To stand behind a lectern in front of all my peers and teachers and deliver a moving and powerful speech about the human condition. I felt betrayed by my undeniably cushy life. I didn't have any dramatic experiences to write about. I've never held a human heart in my hands, witnessed a bar fight in Israel, or even had particularly sweaty palms. I once rescued a raccoon, but that just wasn't very exciting, and the raccoon wasn't all that grateful. So, instead, I searched for inspiration outside of myself. I asked everyone who would answer me: What I should talk about? Most said that I should talk about them, except my siblings, who insisted I speak about karate and how the moon landing was a hoax.
The more I meditated on what topic to drone on about today, the less it seemed to matter. A five minute speech felt entirely negligible compared to the expanse of a lifetime. Then, when comparing one lifespan to all of time and all of space, it was hard to figure out why we have these talks in the first place. In fact, all the monotonous everyday tasks that fill our time seem pointless from the perspective of the infinite. Which is exactly the perspective I decided to take today.
Astronomy has always been as much an escape as a fascination for me. A way to distance myself from anything I don't want to deal with. If given bad news such as having to speak in Church, I only have to look at my favorite constellations for a while to forget the assignment entirely. Life is a whole lot easier to deal with when you have a fallback as readily available as the sky.
As easy as it is to be consumed by the microcosm of friends, sports, and grades that is stressful Abbey life, I've found it is even easier to lose track of your troubles in the macrocosm of the universe. Sure, you were late to PreCal this morning and got work squad. But the Milky Way is 9.006 billion years old and will last another 4.02 billion years, until it collides with the Andromeda galaxy. What's ten minutes late compared to the space-time continuum? Time is relative, as Einstein proved. Time may even be an illusion, like Headmaster's Holidays.
But that is not to say that this moment doesn't matter. It won't last forever, and that's why it matters. This moment is all we've got. It is always Right Now. This is our fraction of infinity to do with as we please, so long as what we please is within the spirit of the Student Handbook. This is not news to you. You've heard it time and time again from the likes of Horace and Drake. No need for me to repeat what you already know. But I can remind you to strike a balance between obsession and apathy. Don't be a slave to the clock; you'll burn out. But don't pretend time doesn't exist, either.
We only have four years here at the Abbey, which isn't much compared to the 81,000 years it would take us to get to our closest stellar neighbor, Proxima Centauri. Let's spend those four years well, moment by moment. In conclusion, I couldn't think of a deep quote that you haven't already heard, so instead I'll conclude with this: "Hot Wheels: Beat That."