If I had to pick a favorite month of the year, December would take the cake. It’s not exactly a controversial take. By Dec. 1 (or earlier for some of us), Mariah Carey has begun singing her familiar whistle notes, and Andy Williams has begun to proudly declare that “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”
At the beginning of the school year, I felt lost. I needed to completely rearrange my classes, apply to jobs I was uncertain about, rediscover my place at Boston College after six months abroad, make amends with someone, and spend time with the friends I love while also trying to meet new people.
“Who decides what comfort is, anyway?” I find myself asking this when one of the students from Upper makes fun of my current living situation.
For as long as I’ve known how to, I’ve loved reading. In middle school, I always joined my school’s annual competition to see who could read the most books over the summer. The last week of school, I would roam the Barnes and Nobles in my neighborhood, accumulating a pile of books taller than I was and paying for them with the B&N gift cards I received every Christmas from my relatives. In September, after a long summer of reading, I was always crowned one of the winners.
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.
I have always been a planner. My notes app is filled with to-do lists, reminders, and anecdotes—a tangible, terrifyingly disorganized snapshot of the inside of my brain. I came to college with a set plan—a political science major on a pre-medical track, setting myself up to go to medical school.
After Boston College football pulled out an exciting, well-fought victory against Syracuse, about a quarter of the BC student section finally trickled out of their place in Alumni Stadium. Where were the rest? Already gone, and had been gone for a while. Those empty stands were antithetical to the turnout at the previous night’s hockey game against Maine, featuring a line wrapping around the back of Conte Forum and a student section that was full and rowdy until the very end of the game.
Stop whatever you’re doing—we are in a crisis. America has a housing crisis. The Western world has a well-documented mental health crisis. Microplastics are creating a new physical health crisis.
“Welcome to Milwaukee, The Bloody Mary Capital of the World” greets me like a familiar hug each time I arrive at General Mitchell Airport in Milwaukee. Green Bay Packers paraphernalia, Cheeseheads, and Drink Wisconsinbly shirts adorn the vendor stations lining the central walkway to baggage claim.
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?
