On Friday, I was set to take the shortcut through the Robsham lodge—the shortcut you take to get to Lower when the temperature drops below 20 degrees (or in this case above 90). But when I got to the door, the usually empty space was a-bustling with would-be-actors pacing and gesturing away to themselves. I took a step back. I’ll go the long way.
It’s that time of the year, the time that stretches from when the first syllabus hits your hands to when you drop your first paper/project on your professor’s desk like a hot potato. It’s the time of the year that feels like one, big re-introduction.
For some though, more accurately a fourth, we’re in the middle of a grand, mass audition. For a bunch of those pacing across the Robsham lodge, it’s a stressful introduction. We (those affiliated with clubs) present our clubs and ourselves and freshmen (and sophomores) give the best audition they can—usually an amoeba of different selves. They sing their song, do a dance, try their best to shake web to web and look ’em in the eye and—wow this is really intimate.
It feels weird to be at the gate. It’s weird, and kind of heartbreaking, to watch freshmen throw themselves at different gates, knock on doors, and mill around the Mod fences looking for a way in. It’s heartbreaking, because freshman’ll peek inside, and think “wow that looks great, that’s where you ‘make it.’” And after what is hopefully careful consideration, we (those at the gates) either open them up or shout “no thanks!” from the ramparts. Sometimes you have to camp out.
I camped outside The Heights. It was a long journey, but the words you read right now are a product of a few years of lean deer jerky and baked beans over a campfire. That actually sounds wonderful. Some of it actually was. I don’t have any regrets over my BC experience. I don’t believe in regret, just like Tim Riggins. I think regret implies that you’d want to do it over again. I wouldn’t. I know I snuck in the castle (or in this case dungeon) a little late. And if you can get in early, maybe that’s the way to go. Maybe not. But these words are some bit of proof that, sometimes, things work out.
So you’ll ride up to the gate, bang on the door, and the damned thing won’t budge. You go to the next one. Same result. It sucks. No other way to put it. College gifts you with all this free time and you’ve got nothing to do with it. But this isn’t the time to open up League of Legends (you dog!) or get stoked for a night out at Tascas (margaritas!). Unless that’s where you find meaning—where you think you can contribute to BC.
Sentiment alert. That’s what you’ve been tasked to do here. Make each other better. We all didn’t come here for the professors, to live in Chestnut Hill, or because we really respect the administration. We came here because we thought we’d like the people here, and that they might make us better. That the competition would make us better.
And the thing about competition, you’ll lose sometimes. But this isn’t the Premier League or the opening weekend for Zac Efron’s We Are Your Friends. You can come back. You don’t get locked out. It worked for me. It might work for you. It might not. But you’d be a fool not to try. So find a spot under a tree, get a fire going, and keep an eye on the gate.
Featured Image by Francisco Ruela / Heights Graphics
