As a connoisseur of Dining Services, I occasionally make the long and strenuous journey from the Lambeth outback (known for its distant location and variety of native flora and fauna) to O'Hill for dinner. My march takes on a somber tone, however, in the two minute stretch from the intersection of Alderman and McCormick to a jolly Dean at the top of the steps. This is due to my brief immersion in the world of first-years, where everything from the dinner specials to the mint selection is a big deal. The way they struggle and triumph through the ups and downs of first-year life can be quite entertaining for anyone listening in. It is a sensation akin to watching fish in a fish tank. Sprinkle in some food, or add a new toy, and watch how they respond. However, I quickly realize that I and all of my friends were those very fish less than a year ago, which begs the question, what happened? How have I aged ten years in the past six months? The fact of the matter is that first year is an extreme that simply cannot be topped, due a to a unique combination of factors, among them a new environment, constantly being pushed out of your comfort zone, and initially having no friends. Doubtful? Consult a statistician.
Many a second-year will tell you that returning to Grounds represents a major wake-up call, most noticeably in the area of academics. First year was about experimentation, but by the beginning of second year, you're expected to have gotten all of the curiosity out of your system. Anyone who took a cursory glance at my third-semester schedule would think I was going through a quarter-life crisis: Calculus I? Intro to Biology? But I thought you were majoring in History? I tell myself I'm keeping my options open. Others tell me I'm wasting time. (Luckily, my parents endorse the aforementioned "exploration.")