Lucy Tobier Swarthmore College

Every time I tried to sit down to write this, I felt like an insufferable optimist. Expressing happiness and contentment came with a bucket of guilt. That might seem like a silly thing to resist, but there’s an idea that high school is a musical, and everything goes down after. It feels strange to never be homesick or wish I was back. I worried high school had actually stunk and I just hadn’t been willing to admit it. But the truth is Community was great, and laid the foundation for something even better. Because of the lessons Community gave me, it smoothed a large transition into something completely joyful. High school wasn’t the musical, but the songbook.

During the first couple of weeks at Swarthmore – emboldened by my newness and unattached roots – I would approach a group at random every dinner and ask to sit. Although others, and occasionally myself, might see this as a step too far, it helped tremendously in creating friendly faces and immersing myself in the student body. Community and positive memories of making friends on the St. Andrew’s pew opening day built this confidence.

Last week – now with my roots fully attached – I was sitting in the fortress-like library at 2 a.m., panicking over a research paper and convinced the future of feminist terrorist studies rested on my shoulders. Somewhere subconsciously, I remembered similar nights in room 300 and Tracy’s assurance that the world didn’t start and end with an article. It was Community teachers that showed me there was more value in putting in hard work than producing a perfect end result every time. The intensity of a place like Swarthmore has given me the gift of failure, but it was Community that taught me how to use that gift.

Levity and intensity create a stark contrast at Swarthmore. At times, the work is non-stop, unbelievably intense, and failure feels inevitable. A worry of missing out is strong as I’m surrounded by top students doing incredible research, hundreds of class options (“Sacred Plants, Holy Fungi, and Religious Experience” for example), and an impossible number of world-renowned guest lectures and clubs. But between chaos and 80-hour work weeks are moments of true beauty with people I feel so lucky to have found. I’ve discovered how important it is to be surrounded by passionate people. Everything that makes life so special here – the dance recitals, the handmade boat races, the 4 a.m. chats about religion and Russian politics – are because of the people. Watching someone’s face light up as they describe a project or learning about the crazy major combinations people are tackling creates energy and excitement. I’m surrounded by people with a crazily nerdy, almost insanely committed drive to create. Whether it is in your area of study, a shared experience, or a common sense of passion, find your people. Energy is truly infectious. If I could stress just one thing it would be that: People first always.

Surrounded by students who have changed their majors countless times, taken time off, or otherwise completely shifted their life trajectories, I feel a new sense of freedom of time. In high school, I was consumed by the worry of time running out. The pandemic shook my notion of how much time I had to be young and figure things out. In college, I’ve realized the timeline that I used to cling to is made of rubber. Whether you’re off to college or not, this is the perfect time for foundations to be crushed and plans changed. Where there is destruction, there is rebuilding and progress.

Now, walking to class, I watch Class of 2027 tours and am reminded of how the magic has somehow only grown since I visited last spring and found my people on the lawn. Currently, the campus is full of flowers, students sit on the grass and read, and the library is filled with laughter and sharing of ideas. I haven’t picked up every activity I dreamed of before arriving, but I’ve thrown myself into completely unexpected experiences like fencing. I’ve been stabbed a million times – and have the bruises to prove it – lost countless bouts, and destroyed my calf muscles, but the promise of starting something completely new with space to grow has pushed me to keep lunging.

The foundation continues to be cracked and built as I’m faced with a never-ending stream of new experiences and decisions. Panicking over an almost unnecessary amount of class options for next fall, I remembered the same worries of never having enough time at Community early on. Walking out of Hill Auditorium at graduation, none of that seemed to matter anymore. The growth Community allowed in four years – even despite the pandemic – assured me time is never as limited and plans are never as set as they seem. Magic comes with the right people in the right place, and a healthy dose of optimism and wonder.