Dr. Mike Davis: ‘It’s the End of the World as We Know It… And I Feel Fine’

[Head of School Dr. Mike Davis delivered these remarks on June 5, 2025, at the Commencement ceremonies for the Class of 2025. Watch the video.]

Today, we gather to celebrate not just an ending, but a remarkable beginning: a new chapter in the lives of our Colorado Academy graduates.

To the members of the Class of 2025, congratulations on staying true to the mission of our school. You have shown curiosity, kindness, and courage and have been adventurous learners and leaders, embodying the values that define our community.

I have loved watching you grow. From racing some of you in the Head of School-Kindergarten race (in which I still have never won in 17 years), to numerous recitals, musicals, and plays, to athletic events and State Championships, to Images of Greatness, to Eighth Grade capstones, to nervous student orientations, to academic presentations in the ASR program, to REDI Lab projects... It is impressive what you have done and how you have thrown yourself into the community with passion and intellectual curiosity.

And to our extraordinary faculty and staff, your dedication, creativity, and care have shaped not only minds but hearts. You are the architects of futures, and your impact reaches far beyond the classroom walls. As we reflect on the profound influence of teachers, I am reminded of the words of William Butler Yeats: “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.” The fire has been lit at CA. And graduates, it is your job to throw some more gas on that fire and make it huge as you go onto college and beyond.

So, every Commencement I get sentimental for my teenage years. I graduated in 1987, and I love, whenever there is a 1980s-era themed day for Spirit Week, how wrong young people are about how we dressed back then. Few dressed in neon and leg warmers or like Cyndi Lauper. The 1980s was an amazing time from a pop culture music perspective. And, to be fair, there were some cheesy 80s bands that did wear neon – it’s just that no one followed suit. Bands ran the gamut from bad pop from Wham, to great pop like Madonna, to rap music like Run DMC, Public Enemy, and the Beastie Boys.

And then, of course, the genre that a mullet-haired teenage Mike Davis loved best: heavy metal—bands like Iron Maiden, Van Halen, and Ozzy Osbourne. These bands of all genres all got a lot of radio and MTV play (an emerging cable channel that played music videos) and, even if you didn’t like a certain genre, you were still exposed to it, as there were no algorithms to put you in a music echo chamber. Record companies had a lot of power and could really shape what young people would think was cool or good or hip. It would be forced down your throat in ways that didn’t allow much thinking.

But, as I was to learn once I got to college in the late 1980s, due to the help of some good friends with great taste, there was a whole underground of music that wasn’t getting radio airplay, but eventually would shape so many music trends today.

I bring this all up to encourage you to break out of the algorithms of social media, Spotify, and YouTube that don’t challenge your ideas of art, politics, and culture. For me, back in the day, this would include post-punk bands like the Pixies and the Replacements–who were never on commercial radio, but who were way more interesting than those that were. There were great alternative country bands like Uncle Tupelo that laid the foundation for a new type of country and western–but that would never be celebrated in the Nashville music business. There were bands like Dinosaur Jr., whom I saw in a club with 15 people in 1988, who inspired later grunge artists like Nirvana, who have sold millions of records.

And then, there was R.E.M., an American alternative rock band formed in Athens, Georgia, in 1980 by Michael Stipe, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and Bill Berry. The band gained popularity through constant touring, college radio stations, and indie (short for independent) record labels before achieving mainstream success in the late 1980s. The song “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” came out in 1987—again the year I graduated–and I remember cranking this song at our high school prom.

The song is chaotic, breathless, and joyful—a fitting anthem for the moment you’re in right now. The lead singer, Michael Stipe, an art student with an amazing voice, would purposely muddle the vocal mixes so you could barely understand his words. His lyrics in general were like Bob Dylan’s: a mix of observations that create meaning that is often subjective.

But, back to the moment you are in and the lyrics of this song. Endings and beginnings aren’t separate—they’re tangled up together. That’s how life works. High school ends, and something new begins. It might feel like the end of the world. But you’re fine. And more than that—you’re ready.

R.E.M. started the way a lot of things do: quietly. They were a college band, playing to tiny rooms with 20 people, if they were lucky. Their first gig was in an abandoned church that also served as a rehearsal space where they created music that was unique and different from anything at that time. With the exception of Stipe, their singer, the other members had been playing music for years, mastering their instruments. Guitarist Peter Buck had spent a lot of time thinking about what makes a great band. And they came out of the gates fast.

Their first tour? Cheap vans and sleeping on the floors and couches of fans. But what set them apart wasn’t Buck’s jangly guitars or Michael Stipe’s cryptic lyrics, Mike Mills’ bass and harmonies, or drummer Bill Berry’s leadership. Guitarist Peter Buck said, “We can all make music individually. But we are smart enough to know that the music we make together is far better.”

It was their vision. From day one, R.E.M. knew who they were—and they refused to compromise. They had values related to justice that they modeled. They didn’t chase fame. It came to them through hard work and believing in themselves. And through it all, they were kind. Everyone who crossed their path in those early days said the same thing: Those guys were gracious, thoughtful, generous. They knew the names of the managers of clubs, the bartenders, the doormen, and got to know their fans whose couches they crashed on. In an industry built on egos, they built something better—community.

Over the course of their recording career, the distortion begins to fade, the vocals emerge with greater clarity, and the lyrics better unveil their meaning. That’s where you are now: driving your own lives out of the chaos of Lower School, Middle School, and Upper School. And you will drive yourself to your happiness. You’re in the driver’s seat. The road is unknown—but that’s what makes it yours.

When R.E.M. signed the biggest record deal in history at the time, they still made albums full of weird, brilliant, poetic songs. They stuck together. No scandals–they were highly ethical guys. They shared all writing credits (and royalties) equally; many bands have broken up over this issue, and part of the reason they survived for so long was they saw each other as equal partners. No bitter fallouts. Just friendship. Just four people doing something they loved—and doing it their way. And when it was time, they ended the band together, as friends, still whole, still kind. How rare is that?

So what does this mean for you, Class of 2025?

It means: Have a vision. Don’t wait for permission to be who you are.

It means: Be kind. You can be ambitious without being ruthless.

It means: Be generous. Credit and praise are best shared, not withheld.

It means: Stay weird. Stay real. Think for yourself.

It means: You can grow up without giving up.

And when the world changes—and it will—remember the chorus:
“It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

You’re going to be just fine. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find people you trust, and you’ll build something meaningful, and maybe, like R.E.M., you’ll leave the world a little stranger, a little better, and a lot more beautiful.

Congratulations, Class of 2025. Drive on.