I have never run Beer Mile, nor have I gone to Dragfest. I have never owned an iPod Nano, nor am I writing this on an I-whatever shiny white Mac laptop. I have never played Frisbee Golf, nor have I ever been good at Ultimate. I am not from Seattle, and while I was born in Portland, I don’t really call it home anymore.

I have eaten more fast food than organic food, and the fact that something comes in a package or can has never stopped me from eating it. I have never owned Chacos, nor have I ever worn anything made by Patagonia. I have never gone on an OP trip, and the few times I have camped in my life I could always think of things that would be far more enjoyable—like watching C-Span. Two of the three Nalgenes I have called my own were given as gifts by Whitman departments, and the third I stole from my Freshman year roommate, Lazaro.

I have never gone skiing, nor snowboarding and generally enjoy a warm beach more than a damp forest. I shower regularly and hate having my shirt off in almost all situations. Very few people would call me a hippie and my being a Democrat doesn’t really reflect that concept, either. I don’t think Republicans are the root of all evil and find some of the “liberals” around me to be more close-minded than any conservative I have met. I am not a rabid atheist with little appreciation or knowledge of the beautiful faiths in this world, and I find more spirituality walking into a church, mosque, synagogue, or temple than I do out in “nature.” I readily and freely admit my privilege, instead of attempting to deny it and ignore how I can use it to improve the world. Oh yeah … and I am not exactly white.

All those things that I have done or not done, believed or not believed, or owned or not owned are things that seem to separate me from typical Whittie status. Or, perhaps they separate me from stereotypical Whittie status. Some of those things I regret not doing, some of them I am proud of. And only a few do I judge others for having the alternative. I mean, Chacos …. really? Can you blame me?

Looking back, it would have been easy for me to feel alienated and lost, given all the things about me that just don’t seem to fit very neatly into this community. Each of the things listed above are all things that have been told to me, explicitly or implicitly, as keeping me from being a “true” member of this community.

Now that I am preparing to leave, I began to ask how it is possible that I manage to be counted among our statistically happy population. Given that there certainly is a presumptive Whittie identity that for several reasons I just don’t fit into, how can I still feel like I am a part of this place? After some reflection, I think I have come up with two reasons:
One, for every person that made me feel like I didn’t belong, there was a student, professor, staff member, or administrator who went out of their way to make me feel welcome. My friends here embrace me for who I am and remind me every day that not only do I belong, but that there was no place else I could be. They made me realize that there was something about this place that I had to experience, something I had to be a part of in order to come out with a better understanding of who I am.

Second, I realize now that the presumptive stereotypical Whittie identity is complete and utter crap. Nobody embodies it entirely, and in fact nobody embodies a majority of it. There are things about being a member of this community that I embody, and most things on my list are things that I don’t do but others do and are right to do so, because it is right for them. Although, I will continue to judge you if you own Chacos, but not too harshly.

Diversity has become more or less of a buzz word this year. It means something different to everyone—pun very much intended, by the way. To me, it has more to do with highlighting and celebrating difference, all the while sharing something profound in common. Our commonality is that we are all here, and that a part of us always will be. You can’t take the Whitman out of me and President Bridges giving me that diploma will only take me physically out of Whitman.

We are all in the leaves that cover the grass in the fall, and we are in the vines that creep up Sherwood in the spring. We are all in the books in the library, and in the red brick of the Reid Campus Center. Students, professors and staff all share that we lived here, in this community and that it has meant something. Exactly what can never be quantified, but it need not be. We will find our own diverse answer.