Like a multitude of other students, I dragged myself and my luggage out to the polar bear statue early Friday afternoon to catch the ride that would take me away from Bowdoin for my Fall Break.
It was a nice day outside, which made it a bit difficult to say goodbye to campus despite the brevity of my time away.
Having just been exposed to what a true typical week at Bowdoin is like—work, work, work, work—I was glad that Fall Break had arrived so I could have a period of readjustment. I am not suggesting that my first month at Bowdoin has been overwhelming; in fact, I believe that it possessed a perfectly acceptable amount of whelm.
However, any new environment or set of experiences does merit a change in the approach of the person immersed in it. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to institute any changes into my approach toward school. My time away in New York was filled with too much walking, good food and random run-ins with fellow Bowdoin students.
As far as school was concerned, in my spare time I simply chiseled away at the medium-sized pile of work that had followed me into vacation.
That last statement is not entirely true. I would be a liar—a dirty, dirty liar—if I were not to acknowledge the fact that every now and then a vision of Winthrop Hall would make its way into my mind.
I could not escape the thought of the campus or the small city in Maine that sits quietly only a few miles inland the coast.
Thinking of Bowdoin (already a weird start, “thinking of Bowdoin”) was not unpleasant; I did not recoil in horror at the thought of all of the commitments and obligations that awaited me on campus.
I did not dread the idea of having to return to class. Rather, I could think only positive thoughts about the experiences I had already had and the ones that are sure to come.
Actually, I wish I had more to say about my time in the city.
However, like momentary silence in a piece of music, Fall Break only served to accentuate the fact that I am in the midst of my college experience, just as a listener is in the midst of an absorbing musical work.
In all honesty, I could say more about the delicious restaurants. I could say more about how greatly my legs hurt after scaling that mountain of a street atop which my brother’s apartment sits.
I could say more about how lovely the East River looks from Williamsburg. I could say more about many things, but doing so would not be fulfilling.
And earlier—when I talked about my lack of readjustment being unfortunate—it seems that I misspoke, or did not speak entirely. How exactly does one adjust to the unknown? Yes, I have been in college for a hair over a month now, but what does that mean?
I am fresh into this four year process and seeking to mold it to my desires—or myself toward what it typically demands—is not something that interests me. I want only an organic process of growth and development.
I am too well aware of the sappiness of this piece. More than aware, I am a bit horrified. In high school, I viewed school spirit or any other sort of enthusiasm for the educational institution as a disease to be avoided at all costs.
Even now, the “cool” kid who held that view in high school is fighting against enjoying my current predicament. However, he will get tired—and I can also simply tune him out.
He never had anything important to say, anyway.