It happens every time. No matter how many pep talks I give myself as I walk through the door of Arch's, no matter how sternly I try to reason with myself, I know that inevitably I will not be able to alter the chain of events. Before I know it, it sounds as if someone else's voice is rolling off my tongue.
"I'll have a Black Caesar, please."
Failure. As I stand facing the plastic divider that separates me from the smooth slopes of chocolate chips and the crumbling decadence of once-whole candy bars, the colorful gummy bears seem to mock my inability to choose them for a change.
Their protruding jelly eyes beg the question, "Couldn't do it this time, could ya?"
I am incapable of moving steadily down the list of Archers, the frozen yogurt concoctions, and moving onto a new flavor. I am unable to take a chance on a lonely Ridiculous with Oreos and fudge brownies. My habit of ordering the same Archer every time goes deeper than my affinity for the cookie dough, Reese's peanut butter cups and Magic Shell that blend together in the Black Caesar.
The underlying issue here is a fear of something that falls right under public speaking on the list of experiences that fill human beings with dread: change.
As students return to Charlottesville to begin a new year, change is inevitable. First years wave goodbye to sobbing mothers and learn to use a bathroom fashioned to accommodate an entire hall of people. Second years move off Grounds into apartments they leased during the housing frenzy that begins sometime after the first fall hues appear on the trees in October. Third and fourth years switch their focus to career planning and their impending entrance into the ominous "real world."
Despite the rapid tide of change that students grow accustomed to as a new semester begins, everyone is hesitant to stray far from their comfort zone. We seek out old friends and our favorite chair at Starbucks. Those who swear by the AFC don't make the trek up Observatory Hill to take advantage of the less-crowded Slaughter Gym. The sitcom Cheers, that bastion of wisdom and '80s humor, hit upon something deep in our psyche by proclaiming that sometimes you just want to go where everyone knows your name.
In just four short years, it is nearly impossible to experience every opportunity afforded to students at the University. There simply aren't enough hours in the day to sing in an a capella group, be a program director at Madison House, teach aerobics at 6 a.m., and still manage to complete a double major in international relations and commerce.
Of course, some students manage to pull off this feat. And how do we reward them? By giving them a room on the Lawn that requires them to trek outside through the snow in January wearing no more than a bathrobe so that they can brush their teeth.
With so many resources and opportunities laid out before us, it takes change to propel us from one experience to the next. After all, it is change that allows us to progress from a first-year student to a fourth-year degree candidate. If we avoided change as we avoid cracks in sidewalks, we would be forever walking the path from Old Dorms to the O-Hill dining hall. Or, like me, we would order a Black Caesar every time someone suggested a study break at Arch's. When you think of all the advantages a Ridiculous or an Arch Angel has to offer, it's mystifying why anyone would chose not to take the risk.
The worst feeling a graduating fourth year can have is not the fear that a French final exam grade might stand in the way of a diploma. Rather, it is a nagging voice inside their head that says, "if only I had experienced ..."
This voice, sounding strangely like the sugar-coated whisperings of the aforementioned gummy bear, reminds a University student of the discussion panels and volunteer opportunities they may have passed by in order to stay safely in their usual routine. While the University prides itself on the traditions and ideals passed down from Mr. Jefferson himself after he founded the school in the 1800s, its legacy depends upon students who are willing to bring the University into its own role as a 21st century institution.
There comes a time in all students' careers when they must stop and say to themselves, "I see the same people every day, I stick to the same schedule, and I have never dropped in on one of the lectures advertised on the bulletin boards in Cabell Hall. It's time for a change - this is just getting ridiculous."
Hopefully, next time I find myself standing before the glass at the Arch's counter, I will be getting Ridiculous too.