Hi, U.Va., it’s me, Sloan. If you don’t already know me, you’ve probably never heard my name. Now let me tell you why:
For the past four years I’ve spent the majority of my time in the basement of Newcomb, laying out the print edition of The Cavalier Daily. Yes, that’s right, this University actually has a print paper. And contrary to popular belief, the articles, photographs and advertisements do not just show up on the pages by themselves. There is a designated team of humans quietly (or audibly, depending) cursing at crashed InDesign files or uncooperative Photoshop tools late into the night on any given Sunday or Wednesday. Being part of the Production staff is pretty much the same thing as being part of a secret society (or at least, how I imagine it to be): you spend a lot of time with a small group of people, do some anonymous work for the good of humanity and then go home much too late in the night. The point here being that no one knows who you are or what you really do. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Oh, you’re on The Cavalier Daily? What do you write?” I’d be able to pay for my out-of-state tuition two times over. So since this is actually my first time writing for The Cavalier Daily, I figure I should try to make it worth your while. So listen up, friends, because I only get to climb onto my metaphorical soapbox once, and I want you to hear this.
At U.Va. we are surrounded by a plethora of impressive people: students who win national championships, students who live on the Lawn, students who apply for and actually receive research grants to travel the world and pursue their passions, etc. These friends and colleagues are the big fish — the talented and downright stellar humans that U.Va. is known for producing by the bucketful. These are the students whose faces and accomplishments are plastered throughout every admission flyer and UVA Today article and whatever else the administration sends out to wealthy alumni when it asks for money. These are the students who should be celebrated, because hey, they worked their asses off in some way or another and have something to show for it. But I don’t want to talk about these students. I want to talk about everyone else — the little fish of the University. The little fish are the behind the scenes students who do their best and are never recognized for it. I’m talking about the students who serve on the Corner and work their way up to bartender by fourth year. I’m talking about the students who stay out late, drink a little too much and laugh a little too hard. I’m talking about the students who slave away in the basement of Newcomb on a dying medium and see their pride and joy used for fire fuel and packing material. I’m talking about the students at this University who have ever felt like they aren’t good enough to be here, or that they will never fill the shoes of those who came before them.
Although being surrounded by such impressive big fish can be inspiring, it can also make you feel down a lot of the time. As little fish, especially little U.Va. fish, we are constantly trying to be “the best,” to “win,” to do something no one else has done before. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, or that we shouldn’t celebrate the fish that can accomplish these goals, but what I am saying is that it’s okay if you’re just a little fish. Think about it: there can’t be a big fish without a little fish. Life and labels are relative, and without us, the big fish would just be fish.
Many of these little fish, like myself, will leave the University in much of the same way we found it when we arrived — except for that hole in the wall I tried to cover up with my wardrobe first year. In other words, the University will not miss me the same way I will miss it. The Rotunda will still stand after I walk the Lawn; the doodle I left in a cubicle on the first floor of Clemons will forever distract my fellow procrastinators; and The Cavalier Daily will continue to show up in newsstands. But that’s not the point. The point is that even though I will leave the University much the way I found it, even though I never got a 4.0 or won an award or got tapped for a secret society (still waiting), I will not leave the University the same way I entered it. And whether you’re a big fish or a small fish, you too will not leave as the same fish you were when you arrived. Because whether you know it or not, you have grown and matured and turned into someone that 5-year-old you would be in awe of. And that’s something to keep swimming for.
So, keep doing you, Little Fish. Don’t let the accomplishments of your friends and colleagues get you down because you, too, are doing big things, even if you can’t put a label on it. Embrace the Little Fish title and wear it with pride. You are a little fish, and you are enough.
Sloan Christopher was the 126th production editor of The Cavalier Daily.
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