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This summer, I traded my bathing suits and flip flops for business casual blazers and flats. Late nights filled with Netflix binge-watching soon turned into early mornings packed with coffee, subway stops, crowded New York streets and even more coffee. Internship season had officially started, and I struggled to adjust to the fast-paced city lifestyle. Although my quiet, suburban hometown was located only 45 miles north of the Manhattan metropolis, it felt like the two places were in separate worlds.
This summer, a soon-to-be Dartmouth freshman texted me asking whether she should buy any articles of clothing in particular in preparation for her transition from our hometown of Lexington, Kentucky to the cold north. I replied with an emphatic no, reassuring her, “Dartmouth is the best because really and truly no one cares what you wear … I think anything that you buy will totally fly.”
Located next to the golf course, Pine Park is a popular place to run, with its scenic views of the river and lush greenery
Do you ever find yourself using your phone when walking to class to avoid making eye contact with the girl you met to last week, because you don’t know whether she will say ‘hi’ or not? This might be unintentional ghosting. Ghosting can be best defined as the act of actively or passively avoiding communication with someone without being specific about your intentions for the future of the certain relationship.
A month ago, I would have been sorely underqualified to write about silence, the theme of this week’s issue. I grew up in downtown Chicago, where silence is an ever-allusive myth. Though I thought of Hanover as a quieter lifestyle than Chicago, I’d interpreted that in the context of its simplicity, rather than the noise level. I should have known better, with Dartmouth’s the motto being “Vox Clamantis in Deserto.” Though “A Voice Crying in the Wilderness” describes some less outdoorsy freshmen on their First-Year Trips, it also portrays a certain degree of solitude; there is no background noise to life in the Upper Valley. In the pandemonium of Trips and the hecticness of orientation, I didn’t even notice the difference in noise levels between home and Hanover. As the storm has settled, and I’ve stared to adjust to my new home, silence creeps up on me at strange times. I’ve come to respect the profound impact of silence, especially on someone unaccustomed to it.
Our campus, though nestled in the white mountains of New Hampshire, hours away from the hustle and bustle of city life, is a thriving and pulsing center. We may be secluded from the noise of any city, unlike many of our Ivy League counterparts, but we make enough noise of our own. But what happens when there’s no noise at all?
Ever since I was a young girl, my classmates described me as a “violeta timida” (timid violet). This meant that I was always the quiet one in every social circle, which at that time was composed of my family, school and neighbors. In elementary school, I believed that being quiet was a valid state of nature and one of the many characteristics that made me who I am. Nonetheless, as I grew and made my way to middle school, external societal pressures made me want to reconsider my otherwise proud title of introvert. I believed that if I ever wanted to succeed in these social circles, I needed to act more extroverted. Therefore, throughout my high school career, I slowly began to evolve into something of an extrovert, both in the classroom and with my group of close friends. On the other hand, while at home, I still felt as if I was in a safe place where I could be an introvert without any negative consequences.
One of the most emblematic and accurate descriptions of our school can be found in its motto: “Vox Clamantis in Deserto,” or “a voice crying out in the wilderness.” Yet the phrase is rarely given much attention or thought, perhaps dismissed as an archaic Latin idiom that fails to inspire students. Forgotten and unacknowledged, the motto fades into obscurity and silence. Yet it is silence itself to which the motto so powerfully alludes. “A voice crying out in the wilderness” speaks to the silence of Dartmouth’s isolation, but also the impulse our community has to fill that quiet space with ideas, conversations and culture.
Have you ever walked into an environment feeling awkward because you were not familiar with the social norms? No longer will you have to worry about that, as we have designed a guide to help you navigate your way around quiet spaces on campus. Since midterm season is fast approaching, this is the perfect time to introduce you to some of the great study spaces at Dartmouth.
“I raise up my voice not so I can shout,” said Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani advocate for women’s rights who won a Nobel Prize at age 17, “but so that those without a voice can be heard. We cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”
Hierarchy. Our lives, and society, are often structured around hierarchies. Some of the hierarchies around us are benign. We organize students into underclassmen and upperclassmen we rank the various food options around us (which we cover in this issue). Clubs usually consist of some members who make “big decisions” and others who do not. These hierachies invade all areas of our lives: socioeconomic status, gender, race, class, sexuality. In today’s issue of the Mirror, we explore some of the ways hierarchy comes into play at Dartmouth. We recognize that we cannot cover every single topic on the matter, for there are whole books written about hierarchy and how it manifests in different ways in our society, but we hope this issue stirs up some discussion on the topic.
Dartmouth Dining Services is known to students for holding a monopoly over dining options on campus. However, DDS is not alone — it faces tough competition from alternative options, such as King Arthur Flour Café on campus and Domino’s Pizza in town.
Ninety percent of Dartmouth students begin their four years bundled with a group of their soon-to-be classmates, camping in the woods, hiking amidst pleasant conversations, trying their hand at canoeing or making pizza at the Organic Farm. During Dartmouth Outing Club First-Year Trips, students engage in their first interactions and form their first relationships of their time at Dartmouth.
A little over a year ago, I entered Dartmouth’s not-yet-freezing campus a bright-eyed and bushy tailed NARP (Non-Athletic Regular Person). I soon noticed the omnipresence of varsity gear at Dartmouth: black backpacks with telltale stitched green player numbers, Peak Performance shirts and Dartmouth green attire that punctuate the wardrobe of 913 students this year.
Jaime Eeg ’18 is no stranger to the term “crazy horse girl.” It’s the name that people sling at her when she talks about horses — the ones on the horse farm she was raised on, and her very own that she keeps at a barn nearby. Eeg was riding before she could even walk. As she grew up on the backs of horses, she noticed that her fellow riders were always girls, and while the boys would respect her for being able to handle a 1,500-pound animal, the interest would stop there. “Crazy horse boy” was never much of a thing.
Leadership is a broad term, but it’s something that many people strive toward. Often times, the type of leadership that people gravitate toward is the kind that comes with a title, and we are often misled to think that the only significant leaders are those who head an organization or have a formal title to their name. In reality, leadership encompasses much more than that. Leadership requires personality, the ability to interact with others, compassion and the motivation to serve. It is something that can help a person grow.
Native American Studies pamphlets from the program’s first decade.