As my mom and I cruised along Interstate 91, our car stuffed to the brim with my mattress topper, electric tea kettle and entire wardrobe, the highway breeze smacked me with intense déjà vu. This is the same route I took 11 months and one week earlier — the day I moved into my freshman dorm. I struggle to believe it’s already been a year since I began my time at Dartmouth.
Back then, my heart pounded as I watched the minutes tick down on the car’s GPS and gradually approached the foreign land that would soon become my new home. Arriving on campus and pulling into the McLaughlin cluster was an out-of-body experience; I refused to process the enormity of it all. Instead, I focused on the task at hand: hauling my haphazardly packed belongings into Berry Hall. My parents, siblings and I lugged overflowing bags through the hallways and into my dorm, where I met my roommate, a girl from the other side of the country with whom I had been randomly matched.
With my entire immediate family’s help, I unloaded, unpacked, rearranged my furniture, re-rearranged my furniture, decided the layout was good enough and made my bed. Then, I watched my family drive out of McLaughlin and back toward my old life. Although my room was still a mess, I rushed off with my roommate to join my fellow North Park House freshmen for the welcome ceremony. On the walk to the football field, I recycled the same three, classic O-week questions — “What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your major?” — all while one question rang in my head: “What am I doing here?” A mix of excitement, exhaustion and bewilderment rushed through me. My first day at college had arrived, a moment that had always felt so impossibly distant, and my only option was to let it unfold and hope for the best.
On the drive to school this year, I could still feel the residual nerves from the year before. It’s a reflex to feel uneasy when starting school, but this tension has shifted into anticipation. The near future no longer feels ominous. I moved in a couple days early, not to participate in Orientation, but to rehearse for the a cappella Orientation showcase. In only a year, I’ve gone from an audience member — awed and intimidated by the performance groups — to a member of one of those exact groups.
When we turned into McLaughlin this time around, we parked our car diagonally from my freshman dorm. Even though I’m living in the same area this year, the sidewalk between my old and new buildings felt wide. I’ve graduated from first-year status, so it’s fitting that I’ve also advanced to the upperclassmen side of North Park.
I already knew how I wanted to orient my room before I stepped into it. I learned last year that placing the length of the bed against the far wall felt coziest and made the room feel most spacious. The unpacking ritual was much less anxiety-inducing than my first go-around, thanks to the heavy duty storage bags I had since purchased. And when my family drove away, what followed was not the chaos of O-week but something closer to a comfortable peace.
As I walk through campus, I find myself debuting a new trio of questions: “How are you doing? When did you get here? How was your summer?” Instead of first meetings, I engage in reunions with old classmates and friends. Instead of worrying about making friends and navigating campus without Google Maps, I think about declaring my major and balancing all the commitments I’ve maintained since last spring.
I wouldn’t say I’ve changed dramatically in the past year, but my relationship to the College has certainly shifted. Last year, I was swimming through a new sea of faces and schoolwork, trying to stay afloat. Now, it feels like I’m standing still, taking in what I already know and trying to figure out a path forward. Coming back to Dartmouth feels like embracing an old friend: Hi, again. It’s so good to see you.
