25 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Starting college is scary enough without a pandemic looming in the background. During my own freshman fall I had a seemingly never-ending list of questions: How do I adjust to the fast-paced quarter system? Which clubs should I join? How do I meet new people? What’s “blobby,” and how do I get there? When those questions became too much to handle, I turned to other freshmen who shared my confusion. And soon enough, we all adjusted to life in the woods. We learned which classes to avoid, how to order Collis stir-fry and how to migrate in “shmobs” from the Choates to the Fayes on Wednesday and Friday nights.
I used to be a big fan of routines; my weekly structure provided me with the consistency I thought I needed. It was comforting. If you asked me to recall what my Thursdays looked like this past winter, I could provide you with a slightly alarming amount of detail: what time my alarms were set for (8:45 if I was feeling ambitious), the time I actually woke up (9:45, leaving me with just enough time to rush to my 10A), what I ate for lunch (most likely a brie and apple sandwich from KAF) and where I studied between classes (2FB).
This article is featured in the 2020 Freshman special issue.
Sophomore summers are usually filled with idle days spent swimming in the Connecticut River and long nights spent trying yet another flavor at Ice Cream Fore-U. The summer provides a unique opportunity for Dartmouth students to enjoy the beauty of New England while bonding as a class. This year — with the Class of 2022 spread out across the globe amidst a global pandemic — is noticeably different.
Ever since the College announced its reopening plan for the 2020-21 academic year, it feels like we’ve been sent into a tailspin. The emails from the Office of Institutional Research are still languishing in our inboxes, as we frantically attempt to draw a full picture of the undergraduate student body: Who will be on campus in the fall, winter and spring? What will life look like on the “Hanover Plain”? How will our D-Plans morph around our priority terms?
As the Dartmouth community enters into a summer of continued health and safety precautions, the Hopkins Center for the Arts will continue Hop@Home — a program that streams live events into the comfort of one’s home. This summer, the Hop will also embark on a collaboration with the Dance Theatre of Harlem.
This article is featured in the 2020 Commencement special issue.
This editors' note is featured in the 2020 Commencement special issue.
When I was a senior in high school, I thought that choosing a college was the biggest decision of my life. Maybe it was. To be honest, I hadn’t needed to make many important decisions until then. When I was trying to figure out if I could see myself at Dartmouth, I didn’t make a detailed list of pros and cons — instead, I reflected on the conversations I had during Dimensions, Dartmouth’s program for admitted students to tour and experience life on campus.
Whenever I get homesick at Dartmouth, I reminisce about my favorite places in my hometown. I think of midnight diner runs, hour-long conversations in my favorite cafe and the bagel shop that meets my notoriously high bagel standards. These places are as essential to my hometown as the people that inhabit it. Local businesses give my New York suburb its charm and sense of community.
In the two weeks between Dartmouth’s finals period and the start of spring term, college life as we knew it came to a halt. On March 12, undergraduate students received an email announcing that the first half of spring term would be online. While some students held onto the hope that they would be reunited with their peers halfway through spring term, students quickly received another email on March 17 confirming that the entirety of spring term would be conducted remotely.
The impacts of climate change are omnipresent. On Feb. 6, the temperature recorded on Antarctica climbed to 64.9 degrees F. according to one estimate — the highest temperature ever recorded on the continent. In the face of imminent danger from climate change, researchers try to find ways to mitigate the effects of global warming. One such researcher is biological sciences professor Caitlin Hicks Pries. Pries studies deep soil organic carbon and its implications in climate change. The Dartmouth sat down with Pries to learn more about her research and its impact on the environment.
At Dartmouth, courage is ubiquitous. Students and faculty members alike are constantly summiting new peaks, both literal and figurative. Because courage is so common here, it can often go unnoticed or unrecognized. However, there is one award that recognizes courageous acts in a unique way. The C. Everett Koop Courage Award was established in 2005 to honor students and faculty members who have shown courage in the quest for better health care.
For all intents and purposes, the word “sophomore” refers to a second-year high school or college student. However, a quick google search reveals that the word has a more meaningful etymology. “Sophomore” is a hybrid of the Greek words sophos (meaning wise) and moros (meaning foolish). So, where exactly does that leave us sophomores? We are stuck somewhere between cleverness and senselessness. Misguided by the illusion of maturity, we are left to navigate our second year of college.
It’s no secret that Greek life is prominent on Dartmouth’s campus. Enter any residential building, and I guarantee that you’ll find at least one “Animal House”-themed poster of John Belushi chugging Jack Daniels, perhaps an ode to the fact that the film was largely based on screenwriter Chris Miller’s ’63 experiences at a former Dartmouth fraternity. On a typical on-night, you’ll find groups of friends in frackets and dirty sneakers debating whether they will scope out the scene at another frat or head to Collis late night while crumpled cans of Keystones line the sidewalk.
“The grind never stops” — it’s a phrase that is all too familiar to Dartmouth students. It evokes memories of panic-driven all-nighters, seemingly never-ending to-do lists and calendars that just never seem to be empty. Sure, there are times when I find work unenjoyable — when I’ve spent hours on a problem set, and all I want to do is take a nap and maybe change my major. There are also times when work seems completely pointless — when I question if I’ll ever really use any of this information outside of class. Yet, for all of those times of panic, there are moments of passion. There are moments when I’m reminded of what all this work leads to: change: Real, physical, future-altering change. Those are the moments that make “the grind” seem worthwhile.
"Oh, I’d love to visit, but don’t you go to college literally in the middle of the woods? There’s just so much more to do in the city.”
The summer after my senior year of high school was one of the most confusing periods of time in my life. A spirit of change lingered in the air: The calm before the storm. Mundane activities, like grabbing coffee with friends in town, suddenly increased in significance. As friends left home for colleges across the country, the strange thought that nothing would ever be the same replayed in my mind. Perhaps I was being a bit melodramatic, but nonetheless, the nervousness and excitement associated with leaving for college were palpable.
We’ve all experienced the absolute joy that results from cancelled plans. Maybe that time you once allotted for your club meeting can now go toward that coveted extra hour of sleep, or you can get one episode further in your latest Netflix binge. But what happens when cancellations incite more joy than the activity itself? If you’re always excited about cancelled plans, it might be time to ask yourself if you really should’ve had those plans in the first place.
Sitting in the library, surrounded by a mountain of textbooks on Theories of Government, I pull out my phone for some momentary distraction. I begin to scroll through my Instagram feed, mindlessly gazing at all of the expertly edited, effortlessly posed pictures that pop up on the screen. Sipping my cup of coffee, I pass pictures of gleaming bikini clad girls, friends clutching red solo cups and groups of attractive music festival goers. Suddenly my cup of King Arthur Flour leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. How can it be that these lives look so perfect? When do they have free time to do all these fun things? Are they actually happier than me?