I don’t think I realized how fast life moves at the University until it was time for summer — time to stop and rest.
What is good and what is bad about yourself? Such a black and white question can never be answered in a similar black and white manner.
I lived a pretty sheltered life my first year. Unlimited dining plan, air-conditioning in my room (all hail New Dorms), lots of upperclassmen to baby me and most importantly — no cars.
You saw some of those hopes come to life, but you also saw some of your dreams wither away.
The past two weeks have solidified what I always thought might be true: I am quite good at relaxing.
Two years is longer than you’d think — I’m glad I’m halfway started.
I trace back the strings of decisions and events that have lead me to particular outcomes.
When it comes to the prospect of going home for three months, it seems many of us are caught between excitement and dread.
Living in a community, however large or small, is a gift.
The psychological influence you can have simply based on the way you walk is astounding.
Nestled between comparatively behemoth, red-brick academic buildings, on Grounds just north of Jefferson Park Avenue, there sits a collection of four, distinctly older houses.
I just want to talk about trust falls without any deeper meaning attached to it. That is all.
The worst is when there are awkward one hour gaps between classes.
Colloquially known as “Croads,” Crossroads seems to be the great equalizer for first-years.
Space: /spās/ noun. “The dimensions of height, depth and width within which all things exist and move.”
The 2000s were my glory days, but all good things come to an end.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the word “enough” a lot.
In the words of the American poet laureate of Blockbuster’s golden age, Nelly Furtado, “All Good Things (Come To An End).”
The key to this, we agreed, was making the conscious decision to seek out good people and put yourself out there and actively engage in the world around you.
This semester, I took up the great project of reading David Foster Wallace’s “Infinite Jest.”
