Four years and 48 columns later, my time at Dartmouth and my tenure as an Opinion columnist have come to an end. Penning this column more-or-less every other week from freshman fall way back in 2004 to senior spring today has been one of the toughest -- and most fulfilling -- dimensions of my life at the College.
This column has been a never-ending fourth class, yet simultaneously, a true labor of love. In many ways, it has been the best education that I have received at Dartmouth. Authoring these columns has decisively shaped how I write, think and argue -- all while thickening my skin. (Luckily for him, Thomas Friedman never has to rub elbows in Food Court with the targets of his columns.) It has been a real challenge to brainstorm fresh topics every other week -- subjects that have not been on the front pages of The Dartmouth or the New York Times and that will capture the curiosity of students.
For good reason, the evolving demeanor of my columns has mirrored my evolving relationship with Dartmouth over the years: the awkward freshman, the giddy sophomore, the seasoned junior and the semi-skeptical senior. Taken together, these 140 pages of written musings are an anthropological study of Dartmouth life and our generation -- a kind of thesis that has been accumulating over the past four years.
From Day One at the Big Green, students are urged to find their "sense of place" and in a moment of epiphany and ecstasy, put their finger on the pulse of the College. Simply put, just "to get" Dartmouth. For a while, I towed this line to live the fabled "Dartmouth Experience."
Yet I learned that the Dartmouth Experience is not a singular entity. It is much less formulaic than simply joining a Greek house, studying abroad and gorging on Collis mac and cheese. There is no Dartmouth Experience. There are 4,100 undergrads. There are 4,100 Dartmouth experiences.
On this note, too much faulty groupthink about this campus passes as uncontested truth. Undergrads lean on these ubiquitous falsehoods to justify their own personal behavior.
Writing this column has armed me with a knack to question conventional wisdom. My most well-received and best columns have stemmed from this creed.
A few takeaways from my past columns: The "hook up" culture is not a product of geography, but our generation. The constant social shuffle of the D-Plan that disrupts friendships and relationships is not wholly different from what happens at semester schools. Why does the College close for Martin Luther King Jr. Day and not for Veterans Day? Undergraduate Advisors for upperclassmen are useless. (UGAs for first-years put in so much more work and are paid the same.) When volunteer associations -- Teach for America, DREAM and others of their kind -- become vehicles for self-promotion and self-advancement, something is amiss. And accustomed to being pampered by the College, undergrads wrongly lash out against Career Services for failing to make the inherently difficult job search process a breeze.
At Dartmouth, I have learned how to learn. Embrace diversity -- not just of race and religion -- but of thought. Seek out the intelligent folks who see the world entirely differently than you do. Actively challenge your pre-conceived notions. Shake them to their core. If they are left standing, feel confident in your beliefs. If they falter, you are learning. A healthy dose of skepticism goes a long way.
Beyond all the cynicism, no doubt, Dartmouth is still very much a special place that I deeply cherish. There is an unmistakable romantic mystique that envelopes life at the Big Green, hues that do not color collegiate experiences in metropolises and suburbia.
The College is much more than an institution of higher education that you attend. It is who you are. It is a way of life -- a frame of mind -- and as such, seniors face a looming identity crisis with their graduation impending. After four years of coddling from the bosom of Mother Dartmouth, separation anxiety sets in.
Yet there is a reason that college lasts only four years. Twentysomethings are in a much different place in life senior year than they were as wide-eyed, 18-year-old freshmen. By the end of senior year, pumping out research papers becomes increasingly tiresome. The subterranean social scene becomes stale. Sentiments that were once seemingly inconceivable bubble to the surface senior year: It is time to move on. It is the inescapable natural progression of growing up.
I have always been dubious of the conventional wisdom that college is the best four years of your life. But I must admit that hands down, the past four years have been the best four years of my life -- thus far. (Take that, puberty.) Who knows what the next four, let alone 40, will bring? I am holding out.
Looking back, it has been a real fun journey. Thanks for reading along the way.
