Coming back to the University in the fall is always strange and imposing, because you've lost the habits of life here and adapted to a whole other, and hopefully less bizarre, world. It can take weeks, sometimes, for things to begin to flow again, and by then you're already at a dead sprint with the year.
Coming back in the spring, on the other hand, is magnificent. We can apply what we learn -- in a life sense, at least, if not in an in-class sense -- to our daily problems and opportunities. For example, scheduling classes. Last semester I finally realized I really do need to leave myself time to eat during the day, so I anticipate having fewer hunger-induced dizzy spells this time around.
Spring is the season of change, and things are changing fast. For example, a good friend of mine recently installed a fabulous 30-inch flat screen in his room, which (whenever it starts to work) will no doubt enchant me with its marvelous brilliance into never again attending class. People are walking around without the thousands of milligrams of canned caffeine that will be required to keep school running a month from now. It's great.
Another sign of the season, of course, is that rush has begun for ladies and gentlemen alike. Rush changes a lot in the habits of first years (either for two weeks or for the rest of their lives), but also totally alters foot traffic around Grounds. For the men, one might observe packs of Greek-letter-reciting fellows scuttering roach-like from house to house, or (alternatively) lying in the ditches.
The women, of course, display very different behavior. I'll never forget my first year when I was ambling across the footbridge over Emmet, enjoying the sun and the breeze. Abruptly, I heard a distant vibration, like the forerunner of the T-Rex's approach in "Jurassic Park." Moments later, a flood of goose-stepping ladies in pearls and black overcoats thundered up the stairs, bearing down on me with the implacable destructiveness of a very well-dressed avalanche. I got out of the way in a hurry.
Some might argue that not all change is good. For example, a sheet of ice the size of Rhode Island recently broke off the polar ice cap and is drifting slowly toward the many oil rigs built in the North Sea. Now there's certainly some justifiable concern over this. But if the weather over the past month has been an indication of what's in store (Coloradans, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you out of this generalization), then I'm inclined to tell Al Gore this is more like "A Super Glorious Truth." If we give it a few more years, Charlottesville will be a beach town. Score.
Class is beginning again, and the libraries are full of assiduously studying students who, next week, will all put their books away and not touch them again until midterms. Professors are warming up their PowerPoint-remote skills. The e-mail servers are gradually preparing for the resumption of the billion in-season messages they'll handle each hour. The owners of Charlottesville's bars and restaurants can let out their collective breath and finally buy Christmas presents. Charlottesville residents are retreating once again into the blast shelters they use to hide from the unshielded atomic fire of the University's life. Things are pretty much rarin' to go.
The best part about this all-too-brief moment, though, is the unlimited power and potential that runs through everything. Our semesters past are done and locked away, and now we get to start everything over again. For the fourth years, this is the last shot they have at the brilliance and wonder of the University's days and nights. For the rest of us, it's another revolution of the grand fortunate wheel on which we ride through this miraculous place, another chance to live and be happy, find ourselves and our friends and figure out what we're supposed to do once we get out of here. So, welcome back, my friends. Good luck. And watch out for the ice.
Connor's column runs bi-weekly on Thursdays. He can be reached at sullivan@cavalierdaily.com.
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