Nearly every semester, a not insignificant segment of the student population stuffs socks into its pockets and bands together to re-enact “28 Days Later” and stage military maneuvers in the quad for a week.
These students nobly give up their homework time and the right to eat lunch in the Pit without fearing for their lives. But every single semester, there is at least one kvetch, editorial cartoon or curmudgeonly frat star that loudly voices their disapproval of the whole endeavor.
They suggest that this odd smattering of like-minded individuals with Nerf guns and bandanas must not know what it is to have friends or a life — that “college,” as such, is passing these individuals by.
But how justified are any of us in thinking that “a life” or the “college experience” should and can only be what we imagine them to be? It’s arrogant to assume that not only does everyone else enjoy the same things we do, but also that the things we do are necessarily the most enjoyable and worthwhile things we could be doing.
It can be different for everyone, but for me the “college experience” means doing those things you probably won’t ever be able to do again. But you don’t usually know what those things are until you stumble into them, because otherwise there would be nothing stopping you from doing them later.
Now I could revisit painful tropes like “college is for finding yourself” or time-honored college cliches, like the quintessential late night dorm room dialogue about profound and somewhat conceited topics like God (or lack thereof), meaning (or lack thereof) and happiness (or lack thereof).
And I’m definitely a fan of that whole jam, but when I think about my college experience I think about the unorthodox parts of it — whatever makes for a good story.
I’m talking about collecting instruments and playing Mumford & Sons while crossing Franklin Street during a hurricane before performing an acoustic cover of “Hey Ya” in a crowded Cosmic Cantina. I’m talking about getting a burrito thrown at you and seeing a window get nearly shattered with a wayward elbow before attempting to break up a fight outside Cosmic Cantina while the staff laughs and looks on.
I’m talking about being offered (and politely declining) sexual favors and gin from an ostensibly homeless couple at 8 p.m. on a weekday outside Cosmic Cantina.
