As we now approach that all too familiar pre-finals, running-to-Kiewit, overflowing-anxiety-filled last week of the term, a little dose of reflection and dissection of our Sophomore Summer and beyond seems to be a natural last step. As the halfway point of college has blown by us with the first six-term gust, we must now wonder both what has been, and what will be. In a wayward, things-aren't-right-unless-I-have-something-to-worry-about line of thinking, I might say that Sophomore Summer has been an utterly depressing experience.
This depression arises not only because the trimester curtain has come crashing down upon our beloved summer, but also because I feel the need to ask myself the proverbial question: "Why isn't every term like Sophomore Summer?" Or perhaps more realistically and less idealistically, "Why don't other terms at least breath a hint of this summer's same refreshing air?" I worry, or rather wonder what has made this summer so drastically different from other terms that it is beyond duplication.
The answers to my musings whiz through my head: This summer, we didn't need to wear seven layers to walk to class, only to take six of them off once in class. This summer, the school suddenly became ours and ours alone. This summer was the last time we will all call it home at the same time until senior year. (In non-Dartmouth-speak it just isn't a natural progression of friendship to say goodbye to a roommate for your entire junior year of college).
This summer was free from the slavery to varsity practices for the entire term from start to finish, suddenly yielding more river jumping, barbecuing, pong playing, road tripping time. This summer, the major migration to off-campus living surrendered an atmosphere conducive to non-basement parties, house dinners, and the neighborhood climate many miss. This summer played the role of that halfway-there comfort zone where many students finally hit their stride and found their niche.
There has been, however, an all-encompassing, all-consuming catalyst that rose high above these previous concrete, tangible reasons in terms of contributing to the "Summer of '69" aura. For the most part, the principal impetus for the prevailing spontaneity and frolic shared by all this past 10 weeks was not seeded in the sun showing its face more often, nor in the vastly more intimate student body.
Instead, the key to the universal good cheer was rooted in our heads the moment we stepped on our beloved campus in late June. We arrived here with preconceived notions of grandeur, with hand-me-down anecdotes about the epic time we were about to embark upon from the '97s and '96s. Contrary to the Dartmouth norm, or the Ivy League norm for that matter, we were allowed to let go. We were supposed to let go. So we did.
Perhaps it's a shame that the only time a congregation of people such as ourselves can come together and truly indulge is when we are supposed to. For better or for worse, our state of mind was put in cruise control and geared for a therapeutic summer long before the calendar brought us here. We refused to be captives to society's conventional rules, to conventional wisdom, and for a little over two months we became a little wiser for it; chicken soup for our Dartmouth outlooks, if you will.
The general consensus to "never let books get in the way of our education" rang true. As Hanover replaced our homes for one summer, we were able to ignore the culture shock and for a flash, realize that Dartmouth is where our lives, and not solely our classes, are taking place. Friendships and relationships were ignited, furthered, and enhanced, creating a novel framework from which the prospect of the next two years in Hanover now look that much brighter.
At the risk of branding this article as rambling gibberish (which it is anyway), who am I to know or say if the underlying sentiments of this summer can be echoed again? This article is by no means a literary rage call, but instead the raising of a brewing question. Maybe we just have to swallow the fact that Dartmouth College cannot be four years of Sophomore Summers and that is precisely what made this one so special, though I would like to think differently.
The fact remains, when the present becomes part of the past, the future will never be the same. And so it goes, as Sophomore Summer becomes a thing of the past, our class as a whole will never be the same. Had the D-Plan and Sophomore Summer never existed, these next two years would have emanated an entirely more monotonous tint of gray. With this new summer light shed upon our Dartmouth experience, however, the silver lining should become more apparent than ever before.
