Where Is Your Bench?

The following reflection was written for the January 17th edition of the Academic Pulse newsletter at Stonehill College.

As this new year gets underway, I find my mind drawn to moments of reflection. Two weeks ago, with all my children home from college for the holiday break, I made a quick trip to pick up a pizza from their favorite spot in the town of Sandwich, where they grew up, and just one town over from where we now live. I left too soon and had some time to spare, so I drove to a place near the water and parked near a familiar bench. ?

There’s something about finding your bench—a place to pause, reflect and reconnect with what steadies you. For me, that bench is near the Sandwich Boardwalk. If you’re from Jersey like me, it’s not what you think. ?

The Boardwalk spans Mill Creek and salt marshes leading to Town Neck Beach. This part of Cape Cod is more like the coast of Maine: colder water, and rockier beaches, perfect for spying sea creatures. Mill Creek was where our children first swam in the ocean. The Boardwalk was where they first summoned the courage to jump from something high into the water below. My memories are mostly the sound of laughter blending with the sound of the water. ?

I often found myself there during the pandemic, just sitting in one of the stone benches that dot the landscape, trying to make sense of challenges I couldn’t control and trying to control the emotions those challenges created. ?

This bench carries extra meaning. It’s dedicated to Christopher Golden, a former student from the class of 2012 who grew up in our town and lived a life marked by kindness. He passed away in 2018 from glioblastoma. At Stonehill, I had the opportunity to have Chris in several classes, including one that traveled to Washington D.C., and I worked with him on his internship with a member of Congress. ?

He was a good person and I’m grateful that our paths crossed during his time at Stonehill. His bench is a peaceful testament to how the lives of those around us can leave lasting echoes. The longer I am here, the more I realize that even the four years we have with our students can feel fleeting. ?

I often sat on Chris’ bench when the world felt like it was tipping into chaos, not just because of the pandemic but because of the uncertainty simmering just beneath the surface—a sense that we would be unable to move beyond tumultuous times. The stillness of Chris’ bench, combined with the beauty of the marsh and the vast ocean, became a reminder that while we can’t control what lies ahead, we can choose to anchor ourselves in the present. I’m going to try to do more of that this year. ?

Finding your bench isn’t just about geography. It’s about finding a space—physical or mental—where you can sit with the weight of the world and let it settle, even if just for a moment. For me, Chris’ bench by the boardwalk became a place to reflect on where we’ve been and prepare, quietly, for what’s to come. ?

Where is your bench? Where do you go when the world feels overwhelming, caustic or inhospitable? Sometimes, it’s not the destination that matters—it’s the act of sitting down, letting the noise fade, and finding the strength to keep going. Sometimes we just need to help others to find their version of Chris’ bench. ?

I wish all of you a wonderful semester and the peace that can come from appreciating the moments we have together on this journey.