Day unto day uttereth speech. The clouds change. The seasons pass over our woods and fields in their slow and regular procession, and time is gone before you were aware of it." --Thomas Merton
It seems as if Dartmouth College is a different school each term. There is a fall, winter and spring Dartmouth, each with its own activities, concerns and preoccupations.
Situated in Hanover, Dartmouth benefits greatly from the changing of the seasons, which has become very apparent in the past two weeks. Springtime here is a release from the enveloping grayness of the lingering end-time of winter, the victory of renewal.
Of course, this renewal is not limited to the natural world. Lounging on the Green and spending much more time outdoors, we see a different Dartmouth, a kinder, gentler Dartmouth. For some reason, we find ourselves to be a little more lighthearted and whistling a bit more; we have a new spring in our step.
We knew it would come, for as the song title goes, you must believe in spring. Yet, we can get so caught up in the frenetic pace of life here at Dartmouth that we lose our sense of awe and wonder at the beautiful surroundings around us. We already know this, and we have probably already resolved to enjoy the weather, especially while we have it, and this is definitely a good thing.
Although "the seasons pass over our woods and fields in their slow and regular procession," we most certainly do not. Dartmouth life is neither slow nor regular. Right now, let us put thoughts of each moment aside and realize that we are lucky if we are even aware that we are passing through Dartmouth.
As a freshman, I must admit that this year has gone incredibly quickly. As the D-plan throws in its minor variations and I am off to places far and wide while still a Dartmouth student, I can imagine that these years will continue to pass at this rather brisk pace.
Just as it is too easy to sentimentalize about spring and fail to enjoy it, to praise the weather and fail to take it in, it is also too easy to become detached and generalize about our years at Dartmouth while we fail to realize that we are not being specific.
This could be because we are detached while we are here and can therefore only speak of our experiences in the abstract. Lest you think that I myself am falling prey right now to the danger that I have just described, I offer a few instances of the phenomenon to which I am trying to draw attention.
The first can be termed the "crowds but no people" syndrome. As one friend of mine put it, "it was not until I was in a crowded frat basement surrounded by many people that I realized that I was very alone."
Or, there is the "empty paper with full pages" example, and this is something that affects all students at some point or another. This is when we are writing a paper, constantly checking how much we have written and how much we have left to write. We redefine the borders and fonts until we come up with the acceptable length. Then, we read the finished version over and realize that we said absolutely nothing.
Both of these "problems" cannot necessarily be avoided, and perhaps, it is better if they are not, for there is much we can learn from them. However, let us not fool ourselves into believing that there is something there when there is not. As the seasons change in the regular and deliberate nature which they do, let us avail ourselves of all that we have to offer each other, for the time may pass before we are even aware of it.
