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Love All
By Adeline Smith
Hello everyone, I would first like to welcome all of you, the Woodstock Academy Board of Trustees, administration, faculty, staff, students, families, and the class of 2022. My name is Adeline Smith, or as most of you know me, Addy. I am honored to have been chosen to deliver this year’s commencement speech. Thank you all for this opportunity.
In tennis, a score of zero is not called zero. Rather, it is called “love.” This means that when you start the match and the score is zero to zero, you say the score is “love all.” Many joke this is because love is nothing—at least that’s how they mnemonically teach new players to remember such a seemingly obscure term. Some argue it evolved from the French word for egg—l’oeuf—which plays upon a common visual comparison to zero and a phonetic resemblance to English’s love. However, the theory that I always come back to explains that when a player has zero points, they are still playing for “the love of the game,” despite their unfavorable score.
Four years ago, when we first entered the “Founder’s Court,” the score was “love all.”
I cling to that feeling. No—not the feeling of paralyzing uncertainty, small physical frames, and even smaller self-esteems. Not the overwhelming lack of identify or constant state of frenzy to secure safety in a group. Not even the newfound independence or wide-eyed hopefulness. Rather, I cling to that feeling of having time.
Soon after closets filled with academy blue and desperate attempts to find footing in this novel environment, I began imagining the end. Not with celebratory countdowns or heal-dragging dread, but in a race against the 200-something-year-old circumspect clock that blissfully watched, unaware and unapologetic. Of all things they warn you about when you enter grade 9, that perfect square grade—everything from committing to trying new things to using this independence responsibly—perhaps what is emphasized the most is not losing that race, as you are repeatedly warned how “it will go by fast.” Even with this knowledge, it seemed no matter how hard I tried to not let time slip away, I could not escape the feeling that high school was passing me by. Right in front of me. That the next four years was just an accumulation of “firsts” and “lasts.”
I have discovered this is an unforgiving paradox. Such obsession with making the most of the time we are given is truthfully, inimical. Because that clock was always ticking in my peripheral vision, living in my frontal cortex, perhaps I was doing the very opposite of savoring the time. Staring at the clock didn’t make it go any slower.
To detach from this internal countdown, I look for evidence to prove time’s passage—for proof that we didn’t get left behind when the world seemed to stop. At first, it is all too easy to look at the double-digit grade number, the match score, or the number of days we spent collectively staring at our 2019 yearbook photos through iPad glass. It is natural to look for quantifiable criterion and to make one’s experience a simple function of time with a constant slope. Though the numbers on the calendar provide logical proof, they do not appeal to me. Instead, I reflect on moments that stand independent of typical time markers. Moments that were not memorable just because they were our “last” of something. Moments like when I learned about “growth mindsets” in sophomore year biology.
According to the Association for Psychological Science, those with a fixed mindset, who believe they have a set intellectual ability, “often shy away from challenges because they believe that having to work hard at something or making mistakes means they don’t have a high ability.” Fixed mindsets encourage hasty generalizations about oneself and the subject matter at hand. They confine opportunities and curiosity to the surface of our understanding. Contrarily, a growth mindset is one that views struggle as a pathway and necessity for learning, as an opportunity to meaningfully develop skills. Under this mentality, instead of fixating on the point we just lost and allowing it to define the next point, we can use it as an opportunity to adjust. In order to win the match, you have to lose some points. How we approach and process challenge is proof of growth past physical indications. Luckily, mindsets themselves aren’t fixed. Although learning how to learn seems trivial in nature, it is an essential purpose of our time. By reflecting on our own attitudes and learning approach, we can better prepare ourselves for the future’s ascertained challenge. With a growth mindset, instead of playing for the sake of the score, you play to improve. Though I felt time slipping away, the adoption of a growth mindset reminds me of the countless mistakes, surrendered outcomes, and ultimate improvement that I know took significant time.
Instead of looking at the growing number of credits, the match score, or the dwindling number of meetings we have left with each other, I reflect on what truly makes one feel present. For me, times like when I learned the mathematical proof for how nine tenths repeating is equal to one. The difference between these numbers and numbers that traditionally define our time, is this simple proof reminds me of the vast ocean of new knowledge waiting beyond a scratched surface. For you, it may be discovering the discography of a new artist, exercising true empathy when a friend needed you most, or finally recognizing how you are your toughest critic. It may be moments even less obvious, far below our threshold of awareness, like gradually worrying less about what others think or learning how to ask for help. Our time is filled with influential experiences that are unique to you. As popularized by Michelangelo: “Ancora Imparo—I am still learning.” These reignite that fleeting feeling of having a longer, yet thrilling stretch to the finish line. It is these moments, in between weekly “Fair Woodstock” alma maters and yearly Academy building renovations, that remind me of the distance we have verily covered so far in this one-sided race against the clock.
And now? A satisfying look in hindsight—into the unforeseen adversity, perpetual change, and time defined by fundamental moments. What seemed impossibly out of reach for some and quickly approaching for others is finally here. With this, an entirely new “set” of challenges—or instead, opportunities for growth—are available. However you define your time, prioritize and learn from each unique experience. Embrace a growth mindset to make the most of limited time. Why was I so afraid of the ethereal optimism of the finish line—the end of the match? Perhaps it is because I knew I wouldn’t want to leave the indescribably wonderful people, community, and lessons I have found at the Woodstock Academy. Our time spent here, though chopped and spliced together, will serve as an unforgettable plinth to new experiences we build beyond today. Now, though I still yearn for more time, I am prepared. I learn for the love of it; I play for the love of the game. And I can’t help but think, is the score now zero to zero?
Is this what “love all” feels like?
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