It's easy to cry. We all do it sometimes, and I admit to doing a fair share of sobbing, even while at this wonderful place in the mountains, this College on the Hill (as they say), this Dartmouth. For me, at least, the transition to college life was far from easy; for most people, I've learned, it takes at least a little getting used to.
Dartmouth is special, unique. Among other things, it maintains an enormous amount of tradition, from the daily playing of the Alma Mater on the bells (they'll tell you we all know the words, but that's not true -- I'm example number one) to the Greek houses that rule the social scene.
In fact, I used to think they (I'm not sure who exactly "they" includes) brainwashed incoming students, loading them up with all of the correct lingo, beliefs and attitudes. The Green, BlitzMail, Tubestock, Winter Carnival. They're all names we've heard, myths we're expected to recreate.
We love Dartmouth. Everyone loves Dartmouth. And we will, of course, always love Dartmouth. Orientation week in particular fosters this mindset as the scene emerges, dominated, of course, by the frats. Some people latch onto it immediately. It's great, and they fit right in with generations of Dartmouth students. They love the same things those students have always loved.
Others, however, see through some of the initial hype, the commonly referenced "great things about Dartmouth." While good things come eventually, the awareness of something more beneath the green surface can freak some of us out.
So that's when I cried. I realized that I didn't like the stereotypical Dartmouth scene. I didn't like feeling uncomfortable in loud, messy basements, and I didn't really like supporting a system (the Greek system) that still boasts the outdated and offensive Indian mascot.
I had no interest in joining a sorority, in participating in a rush process that judges women based on superficial criteria. And a string of offensive incidents involving Greek houses eventually turned me off of the main scene altogether.
I thought I was alone, but I wasn't.
I found a different side of Dartmouth, a side equally mainstream, but less often seen. I found a set of traditions that fit more with these modern times (and this diverse student body) than the old ones do. Realizing that it's not weird to feel a little uncomfortable with Greek life, I started hanging out with the hundreds of people who feel the same.
Customs can begin every day. At Dartmouth, we tend to rely on the old ones, the ones that have been here since before the United States became a country, before the Civil Rights movement, before women were admitted to the College.
But we can change. We can stand up for what we know is right, we can refuse to fit outdated stereotypes, and we can try new things. Most importantly, we can do all of this while laughing, not crying.
Rather than sitting around, letting "Dear old Dartmouth" envelop us, we can make fun of ourselves and even call it "Dartnose." Because we don't have to love everything about a place in order to be happy. We can love parts and hate parts, keep parts and change parts.
I wish I'd realized this earlier and had the confidence to do all of these things, to make my own "Dartmouth experience," or perhaps I should say "Dartnose experience." These words are not sinful; they do not attack anything sacred. They just offer a new stereotype, with new traditions and customs.
At Dartnose, we acknowledge the bad that inevitably comes with all of the good. We try to change it, and we try to include all of our fellow Dartnosians in our struggles. But most importantly, we have fun.
It may be easier sometimes to cry, but it's more impressive, admirable and satisfying to laugh. And that, my friends, is why I -- the former sobber and complainer -- am now so, so proud to be at Dartnose.
