Freshman year I heard a rumor that Dr. Seuss, Robert Frost and Mr. Rogers all transferred out of Dartmouth because of the icelandic winters. You have to admit, it's more believable than some other myths, like the one about Robert Frost being a "sweet TDX" (oh wait ). Winters are brutal the opposite of sunshine, butterflies and Katy Perry. So it's no surprise that during the winter, if given the choice between "dying alone in a snowbank" (as the Drunkest Girls would say) or locking ourselves up on 3FB and ordering EBAs spicy chicken wings, most of us would choose the latter.
In the real world, such a lifestyle can supposedly cause cabin fever, defined by Wikipedia as a "claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in, in a small space, with nothing to do." This immediately brings to mind images of Jack Nicholson with an axe chasing his family around a deserted winter hotel. (If you've never seen The Shining, think Black Swan + Saw + Inception.) One has to ask, does all work and no play make Keggy a dull keg?
So this week I did a social experiment in an effort to disprove such nonsense. I committed myself to a day of isolation, silence and self-reflection. Here's a sample of my internal monologue throughout this day of limited social interaction:
Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch? Is it taboo to not make small talk with Collis Ray? Sitting alone in the back corner of a 15 person class kinda weird. I hate when you have to talk to your neighbor in class and you don't know the answer. Where's that bridge that connects the old stacks to the new stacks? My backpack's mad old it's the same one I used in first grade. Natalie Portman's engaged?? To a ballerina?
A couple physics chapters, lab readings, Hulu snippets and Kanye tweets later, I realized that dinner time was fast approaching. Unfazed, I mustered the courage to eat solo in the newly-constructed FoCo (talk about taboo). Despite my best antisocial efforts, I couldn't enjoy my Chobani (it's all Greek to me), as I was bound to run into someone I knew and consequently be forced to make civil conversation. (I was trying to be a hermit, not an asshole.)
Fast forward to midnight in the stacks. I had yet to experience any of cabin fever's dreaded symptoms. I was not suffering from sleeplessness, anxiety, boredom, a hatred for Dartmouth or a desire to run through the stacks with an axe screaming "Here's Johnny!"
I actually got a lot done. Walking back at the end of the day, I cried, not because I was lonely and longed for the days of sunshine, but because, well my eyes hurt from exposure to 15-degree weather (we've all been there).
And so I conclude that cabin fever is a myth at Dartmouth. Most Dartmouth students are so busy that cabin fever is the least of our concerns. Dartmouth isn't a barren snowfort in the middle of nowhere it's a bustling mini metropolis of ambitious men and women. Ask yourself which hurts more, slipping on ice or looking at your Orgo grade? Chapped lips or corporate recruiting? Plus, the campus is so small and centralized that attempting to NOT see someone you know would require more effort than trying to fail Russian 13. I know, I know, maybe if you're from Miami/Ibiza/California you're "OMG DYING OUTSIDE," but there's a simple answer: STOP WEARING JEGGINGS. THOSE ARE NOT REAL PANTS.
And if all else fails, just know that there are only about two more months of winter, and there are worse diseases like mono, thesis writing and Bieber fever.
