The first night I went out freshman Fall, I went to the Tabard. Don't ask me why. To me it was just one of the houses on frat row. Once inside, I realized pretty quickly that this was not a "house" in the same sense as the lacrosse house, which I'd been to a few times with some of my fellow freshman laxers.
My friends and I joined in some drinking games with cups of tasty punch and were entertained by a few Tabards, whose clothing and personalities were, well, unconventional, but who were incredibly friendly and welcoming. All in all it was a good time. Did we feel awkward being the only lax bros within a mile or two? Sure, but it was Orientation, and awkwardly lingering in other people's houses was kind of what we did back then.
An hour later I was in another basement, sitting on a bench with a few brothers I had just met. One of them asked what I had been up to that night. Though I knew that the Tabard wasn't exactly Bro Central, I figured there was no harm in admitting I'd been there, so I mentioned it casually. One guy laughed and walked away. Another stared at me with a quizzically, with a slightly perturbed look on his face. And then one of them dumped a full cup of beer on my head.
Before you go railing against the insensitivity of fraternity brothers, let me say first the guy apologized several minutes later, and a year later when I de-pledged from his fraternity, he reached out to me to lend his support and respect for my decision. In hindsight, things worked out. But trekking back to the Choates that night, alone and confused, I wasn't feeling so at peace with the world or with this bro who had just doused me in warm Keystone.
One week into freshman year, I had already made an apparently egregious faux pas. Struggling to figure out what the hell happened, I bounced back and forth between two thoughts: Either I was an idiot or those guys were assholes. Eventually I came to the conclusion that there were a few different ways of living, thinking and being that I had to choose between if I wanted to get by at Dartmouth. Evidently, some things got you props (being sick at pong), some things made you cool (being in a frat or on a sports team, acting like you don't care about school) and some things got beer dumped on you.
Did I turn my back on frat parties after that night? No, of course not. I wasn't about to miss out on the fun or suddenly bail on my friends. It wasn't the end of the world a little beer in the hair never killed anyone but it was part of a greater negative shift in my life. Instead of spending my free time outside, which was one of the reasons I came to Dartmouth, I hunkered down in basements four nights a week to make sure I was in the right places at the right times and acting the right way. Even when all I wanted to do read a book and fall asleep.
I would love to wrap this article up with a nice little bow by explaining how getting beer dumped on me sparked a revelation. I wish I could say that it got me past my craving for approval and helped me find my niche at Dartmouth, that it inspired me to treat myself and others with respect no matter what. But the reality is that we usually fail to act on behalf of our better selves. I can't say I'm proud of the way I've treated women in my time here. I can't say I've always been a good friend. At some point though, we have to forgive ourselves for our failures. Dwelling on them for too long assuming that we're so great we should never fail is really just another form of self-importance. And it's paralyzing.
We often become trapped by our notions of how things should be, stuck in the pernicious "not" as opposed to the liberated "is." In a beer-soaked shirt on a September night three years ago, I convinced myself I was at a crossroad of great importance. Amidst the mental clamor of wrangling over what I should be and what Dartmouth should be, I missed the girl sitting on the bench outside Fahey, was deaf to the calm rustling of trees shaking off their summer leaves, was blind to the possibility of spending a restful night with my neighboring hallmates. I descended further and further into a place behind walls, and Dartmouth went on existing living, shifting, growing, waiting for us to step outside.
