As Jen Parkinson wrote yesterday, "If some one is going to bother reading 750 or more words of my opinions, perhaps they deserve to know who I am." So, allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Lea Kelley, I'm from Washington state, I'm a double major in English and History and I'm a Tri-Delt. I'm also a pretty lousy pong player with occasional moments of brilliance.
And I'm a senior. Normally I would introduce myself as a '97, but lately I've been saying the word "senior" a lot. I think it's a psychological attempt to convince myself that it's true, and that my time at Dartmouth is nearly over.
It's strange being a senior. I suddenly feel like I should know what's going on, as if a cloak of knowledge has been wrapped around me, despite the fact that I have been walking in the wrong direction all week. I feel like I should know where all the buildings are, which frats are cool and which profs are not. And, in truth, I do consider myself to be pretty aware of not only what life here at Dartmouth is like, but also what it should be like. You will be hearing about that for the rest of the year.
There are other little facts about myself that I could share with you, like what activities I'm involved in at Dartmouth, but if you learn one thing in college, it's that after a while these personal labels become less and less important. Well, except for my lack of pong ability, which continues to embarrass my friends and intoxicate me.
But seriously, you spend four years at Dartmouth changing and growing up. Most importantly, you spend this time learning to be yourself. And then one day you realize you have evolved into the person you really are, the person beyond those superficial tags that once defined you. In fact, by the time you graduate, you hopefully will have lost, or at least taken the painful edge off, your Boston or Long Island accent. You will have realized that even though your Greek house or affinity organization is fun and consists of lots of great people, it is not an identity.
But the Dartmouth experience that brings us all together will stay with us, I hope, forever. That experience includes four vastly different years.
The most important thing anyone said to me during my first year here was this: "Nothing will ever be the same as your freshman year." Although the words were spoken by a senior in the depths of AD's basement at five in the morning, they were wise ones. It will never be the same again, so try everything, be careful and have fun.
Sophomore year you think you know everything simply by virtue of the fact that you are no longer a 'shmen. You know the difference between Home Plate and Food Court (unlike some clueless '00s overheard in Food Court who thought there was a dining hall in the Thayer basement). If you rush, you finally get to learn what is in the punch, and what the code is for the door. You might even know your major. You've found your niche, so to speak, as superficial as it may be.
The tendency to feel you know everything reaches its height during the summer. This year I find this feeling of sophomore superiority vastly amusing because I used to think I was superior too.
But then comes what for many will be the worst year. In the depths of your junior year, when it seems like everyone you know is gone and Dartmouth has lost its shine, you will discover that you know nothing and no one. Only now that my classmates have returned have I discovered how desperately I missed them. You can feel the end of your time at Dartmouth approaching and you have no idea how to handle it.
Senior year, you (hopefully) discover the solution, a solution I will try and clue you in to come senior week, when I myself figure it out.
So take these four years to realize who you are, and who you are going to be. Dartmouth is part of that person, and not just "the granite of New Hampshire" that they talk about in the alma mater. Dartmouth is part of you because you are part of Dartmouth. Dartmouth will absorb you, and your memories will become part of the myth. My best friend from home has never seen Dartmouth, and likens it to a cult. I would instead argue that for most of us it is now a home. When we '97s arrive at next year's Homecoming, we will be coming home not as visitors or as alumnae but as part of the living history. We will always be part of the legend, and a part of us will always be here.
