I think we are the first generation where sex is less awkward to talk about than dating. In order to not further risk my chances of getting into heaven, I’ll be talking about the latter—I’m told BC priests read these articles every now and then. Strap in! In case you didn’t know, Merriam-Webster defines date as “the brown, oblong edible fruit of a palm (Phoenix dactylifera).”
I swear that I’m a good driver. I stop at red lights. I use my turn signal. Every accident I’ve been in has never been found to be my fault. That said, there was one time I slammed into a fence post on my way home from work.
The first thing I noticed without my headphones was how dependent I am on the distraction of music. I live in a quaint and homey Mod, and even something as simple as walking to the Walsh laundry room—a one-and-a-half minute journey, at most—always required my AirPods. I grew uncomfortable doing so without them. The walk was shorter than the length of a song, yet I loved the reassurance that I would not have to talk to anyone I ran into.
Two summers ago, I had one of the best nights of college I can recall. My buddy Seamus and I were invited to our friend’s 21st birthday party. And—full disclosure—we were the James Michael Tylers of the cast of Friends. We knew it and our friend knew it. We were the outside crew. But, knowing where we stood, we agreed it could be fun, so why not go?
As Boston College students, we possess an unyielding mentality to do things that we might not want to do because everyone else is doing them. Our mob mentality makes us social climbers rather than true friends.
There is something deeply soothing about uncomfortability.
Through challenging my insecurities head-on, I’ve grown to derive more fun from the things that I used to hold myself back from in fear. Seeing each interaction as “for the bit” makes life so much more interesting.
I find myself starting my final school year and its two remaining semesters. I intend to fully embrace the thirty weeks or 210 days I have left.
Actions speak louder than words. There is no debate. A hug means more than a, “I’m here with you,” and a salute means more than a, “I respectfully acknowledge you.” With this firm belief, a lot of people ask me why I even bother to be an English major.
As important as you think and know you are and as much as you think you deserve to drive above the speed limit, you are still so insignificant to the greater world.
Last semester, I sat in my Shakespeare class, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to debate whether Hamlet was insane or not. But when we got into the heat of the discussion, I was surprised to find that my professor simply shared his opinion on how Hamlet is insane as my classmates nodded their heads.
