At the end of every school year I like to look back at the past two semesters, take stock of my accomplishments and reflect on how I've gotten to where I am today. Sort of like waking up at 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon on your neighbors' back porch, looking at the pile of hubcaps you've made a bed out of, and wondering how the heck you got there in the first place.
Nostalgia is a tricky thing. All the experts seem to tell us not to dwell on the events of our pasts. We're supposed to briefly celebrate, forgive and embrace each other as necessary before moving on in our lives.
And moving on keeps getting harder. MySpace.com, Facebook.com, YouTube.com - we're so fascinated with ourselves and each other that we leave electronic trails everywhere we go. At the end of the year, and for the seniors, the end of your time at Tufts (at least as an undergrad), there's something to be gained from a little nostalgia.
I'm not even graduating for another year, and I still like to hark back to my time as a freshman. My mind reels at how I selected my freshman year activities. I clicked around a bit on the Interwebs and talked to a few first year hall mates who were just as clueless as I was.
Looking back, how could I have been so casual about it all? To think - where would I be had I signed up for The Observer instead of The Zamboni? Who would I not have met had I not broken out my dusty clarinet and tried out for the pit in a Torn Ticket musical? Now these activities feature prominently on my r?©sum?© and will probably - eek - shape where I take my career path.
It's terrifying but true - those few lines on my r?©sum?© will define me to potential employers. And it's not just me - think of how quickly they can label all of us: "concert pianist and computer wiz," "misguided political activist," "feminist pastry chef" or perhaps "redneck."
The myriad combinations of activities we choose to partake in work to create an indelible impression of ourselves in people's minds, and it's important to realize how much they shape our lives and futures.
So it becomes a strange mix of wistfulness and regret. My first semester, I had yet to gain any of the freshman 15, but oh! Who let me walk out of the dorm with those bangs? And I can't help but think that I was trying way too hard, but I guess I made friends who were trying just as hard as I was.
At this point in the thought process, it's hard not to feel overwhelmed. It seems like you can trace it all to the day you got your acceptance letter in the mail (or checked it online) and thought to yourself, "I want to be a Jumbo." (Although, really, who thinks that?) If I'd thrown myself into different student groups, I might be a completely different person leading a radically different life.
Maybe I'd have chosen to write this from Starbucks instead of Diesel. Maybe I'd no longer recycle. Maybe I would have met an engineer from the debate team and quit school to start a windmill power plant in Hoboken, ending up the subject of a patronizing feature article in The Economist (one can only dream). Maybe I'd be a brunette.
These are scary thoughts. I'm comfortable where I am, and happy with the choices I've made. Logically, this means all other choices would have been wrong, and affirms my longstanding belief that I am incapable of making mistaiks mistakes.
It feels like quite a daunting task to address the graduating seniors (this is why I won't be valedictorian next year - it has nothing to do with grades). I suppose I should try to send you off with some words of encouragement and support, in the way of a "wear sunscreen" Commencement speech.
So let's see: Don't wear sunscreen. Wear zinc. There's probably some good research behind that, which I don't feel like looking up. My next point: Don't be lazy.
Finally, when you're famous and successful, drop a note to some publisher friends that I'm ready to write my memoirs.
Kate Peck is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at Katherine.Peck@tufts.edu.
