Jonathan Margulies: On the highway, a surprise in the air

There's a stretch of road not far from Penn where, each evening, the dirt and darkness and grime of city life give way to a delightful aroma that seems to arise, mysteriously, from the pavement below.

I don't quite remember when I first became aware of this urban oddity. Nor do I fully understand its cause, or even why I find such delight in extolling its virtues.

But I do swear its existence. And I'm fairly certain that years from now, long after I've forgotten how to calculate a P-value or read a balance sheet, I will keep the memory of that bizarre phenomenon with me -- a longstanding reminder of the unique voyage that was my four years at Penn.

As my days wind on and my experiences take me further away from Philadelphia, I will remember, no doubt, that the Schuylkill Expressway sometimes smells like donuts.

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Now, before you take me for a lunatic, rest assured that I have not chosen to encapsulate all my feelings on college life into a mysterious highway aroma. Nor does such a fragrance merit much in the way of metaphor. Sometimes, after all, a donut spot is just a donut spot.

I also know it's hard to believe, given I-76's tendency to display, well, less-than-pleasant aesthetics. But should you drive just north of campus, under the dank 30th Street Station overpass, you may come to know what I'm talking about. Make sure the sun has gone down -- 9 to 11 p.m. seems to work best -- and roll down your window. Then take a deep breath.

On a notorious stretch known more for dangerous curves and roadside eyesores, in a city known more for its rough edges and shortcomings, what you discover may surprise you.

And that, I think, is a lot like four years spent at Penn.

When I chose this university, I envisioned my life here would be not too unlike those of the students portrayed in the admissions guidebooks and welcome videos. Surely, I thought, I would spend the long nights of my freshman year huddled around fireplaces, sipping hot chocolate and bantering about philosophy with my cherished friends and classmates. My classes, likewise, would all be small, intellectual fora devoted principally to learning -- grades would come second. And I had no doubts that my Wharton degree would serve as a ticket to a high-paying first job.

Reality turned out somewhat differently.

My first year was actually far from magical. For the first time in my life, I encountered real difficulties in my classes. I found it difficult deciding with whom I wanted to spend my time, and where. I still wonder whether my first roommate had much in the way of a soul.

It was a rough time, to be sure. Transfer applications were filled out. I cursed my (enormous) classes as I entered them each day. I cursed myself for making what I then considered the miserable decision to come to Penn.

Slowly but surely, though, things changed. Not because of one definitive experience or one special relationship; change came about more as a composite of all that my rough beginning taught me, and all that has happened since.

It was an insightful conversation here. An interesting new experience there. Two-hundred-some bylines and a year as an editor at this newspaper certainly didn't hurt the cause.

In the end, a college career that started out bleak and unforgiving turned out to be quite extraordinary. But not for the usual reasons. Not for the reasons, at least, that the guidebooks and promo videos would have you believe.

Penn is indeed a wonderful institution -- a place to learn, to grow, to take one of any number of steps forward on a journey that has no real destination. For some, the path to Commencement on Monday was woven through those late night chats and intimate seminar discussions. For others, it was spent in labs and libraries and fraternity houses and athletic fields.

For a great many others, though -- and I presume many of my classmates shared a similar voyage as I -- the process of learning and growing had little to do with classes or the normal trappings of university life. Instead, it was the making of all those things we simply did not expect -- the random conversations that turned profound; the wrong turns that wound up revealing something extraordinary; the string of failure that ended up teaching you something about yourself and where your passions really lie.

It's a lot like the stretch of dirty Philadelphia road that sometimes smells like a bakery; and a lot like this city, where the most incredible sights and sounds must often be stumbled across to be noticed, for they have been obscured by layers of decay.

My hope for this year's graduates, and for all those who will don the red and blue in the years to come, is that you continue to find your own opportunities -- your own stretches of unexpected sweetness -- even as circumstances may grow dire.

The opportunities, believe me, are out there. And they're just waiting up the road.

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