Sometimes a deep anthropological idea will hit me in the most unlikely places. Is “deep anthropological idea” a huge exaggeration? Probably. Do I call it that because it sounds impressive and doing so boosts my ego? Yes.
Even if these thoughts are just fleeting insights from a Snapple cap, I usually end up obsessing over them for days on end. One memorable revelation about how population size impacts relationships took place in my high school French class.
It is important to know a few things up-front about this French class. My teacher was a goofy old woman who would tell her students to send her text messages in French — “textos” — when she could not come up with a real homework assignment. She tried to extract meaning and thought-provoking ideas from “Muzzy in Gondoland,” a cartoon about an alien who eats clocks. Class discussions devolved into political arguments between students who could barely introduce themselves in French let alone debate universal health care. In short, French class is not an environment conducive to a revelation about social interaction.
On this particular day, Madame was discussing relationships in small towns versus big cities.
“The average person in a 10-person town might have very few friends, but those friendships will be very strong,” Madame exclaimed earnestly. “The average person in a city like Manhattan might have hundreds of friends, but those relationships aren’t as intimate.”
Despite my attention span being at an all-time low, this resonated with me. I was recently reminded of this experience as I started school at a public university with more than 20,000 students. I knew everyone in my hometown, but I know less than one-quarter of the people at the University.
This scares me.
When I think about the daunting size of this school, I worry I won’t forge friendships of the same caliber as the ones I made in high school. It’s easy to feel alone and hard to feel like I’m a part of a community when I don’t even know one percent of the people in it.
My knee-jerk reaction to all of this is to assume the fetal position and hide away in my room for the next four years. Or, better yet, take the first plane home and relive senior year of high school for the rest of time. Alas, scientists have yet to unlock the secrets behind time travel and my roommate might have a problem with me making like a hermit and holing myself up in the room. With that in mind, I have endeavored to come to terms with the potentially-overwhelming student population.
I may not know every student at this school on a personal level, but that does not mean I’m not a member of a community here. Simply attending the University has subjected me to traditions and rites of passage that connect me with my peers. It may sound ridiculous, but I got that warm feeling of community just this morning when I joked with a random person in Newcomb about the gag-reflex of terrible dining hall pizza. That “pizza” may taste like cardboard, but I’ll be damned if we don’t all think it tastes like cardboard.
So maybe my days sitting in French class were worth the time. And maybe I am part of a community, whether it’s a community of Newcomb-pizza-haters or something larger.
John’s column runs biweekly Fridays. He can be reached at j.benenati@cavalierdaily.com.
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