Hi Mirror, it’s Noelle!
This is probably the last you’ll hear from me as a Mirror Editor. With a little sadness and lots of relief, this year’s Directorate will pass the torch to a wonderfully capable group of D Staff in just a few weeks. I’ll refrain from reflecting on my entire time at the D until the spring, but this is the first of the many lasts I’ll experience in the next 15 weeks. I’ll be honest: It has me reeling a bit.
What is college, if not a catalogue of all the places you’ve been and all the ways they’ve changed you? This winter, I’m in my second to last Anthropology class, ANTH 027: “Economic Anthropology.” Four winters ago, my professor taught the first anthropology class I took, and the one that inspired me to pursue a minor in global health.
Weirdly, I haven’t told my professor that I sat in the giant lecture hall she commanded, anxious about speaking and fervently notetaking. I guess I want to put a little distance between that scared freshman and the senior who won’t shut up in seminar. They feel like different people, though I couldn’t exist now without the stressed 17-year-old that preceded me.
There are more full circle moments to come. Every fall and spring, I recruit as many friends as I can find to spend a weekend shifting hangers at a twice-a-year thrift sale in Woodstock, Vt. No matter what we have on our calendars, we drop everything to sift through the donations of Vermont’s finest, packing reusable bags full of unique jackets, quality denim and knit sweaters, all for under $20.
This spring, my friends and I will pile into someone’s Subaru and trace Woodstock’s winding roads for a final time. We’ll probably listen to the same artists we always do or take pictures in funny-looking clothing. We’ll probably stop for food at one of our usual spots on the way back.
There’s a quote out there about these moments being beautiful because of their impermanence. I believe it, but that doesn’t make it easier to face the last of them.
It’s comforting to know that it doesn’t take much to make memories that become transformative with time. Four years ago, my anthropology professor introduced me to the concept of college as a liminal space, where students are neither adults nor children. This has stuck with me, so much so that I’m pretty sure I’ve written about it in an Editor’s Note before.
However, I feel a little differently about this concept than I did four years ago. I think liminality is embedded in every stage of our lives, though more so in college than others. We’re moving in between phases all the time, but recurring moments, like an anthropology class in winter, or a special thrift excursion, solidify our positions in the world while propelling us forward.
This Week in Mirror, our writers share Dartmouth experiences of their own, which may mean more to them in the near future than they know. One writer explores the communities entwined with the Hood Museum. Another writer reflects on charting their own path at Dartmouth, physically and metaphorically. Two writers sit down with a local cookbook author for this week’s edition of their cooking column. One writer gets acquainted with intramural hockey, a campus activity that attracts a variety of participants. The Mirror editors deliver their takes on the best brigadeiro on Main Street. Finally, two writers return for their weekly advice column, sharing their thoughts on rekindling an old fame.
Happy Week 8, Mirror! If you want the name of the thrift sale, email me after graduation. Selfishly, I want to preserve its underground-ness for one last memory.
