The Dartmouth Mirror 5/25/16

MIRROR 5.25.2016

TTLG: LESSONS I LEARNED | 4

TTLG: DON'T READ YOUR REVIEWS | 5

TTLG: REFLECTING

BY THE RIVER | 7

TTLG: PERFECTLY IMPERFECT | 8 MAYA PODDAR/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

2// MIRROR

Joe Kind: A Guy

Editors’ Note

Happy week nine, Mirror readers! Hayley and Caroline can hardly believe that this is the last editor’s note they will pen together, as Caroline will be abroad in London in the fall. Where has the time gone?

In the spirit of the senior issue, the two Mirror editors were put in a reflective mood and reminisced about their time together.

There was their first night together in Robo, when Caroline made a very basic computer error that she, for some reason, found absolutely hilarious. Hayley remembers seeing her younger co-editor with her head down on the desk, tears streaming down her face from laughter, wondering how she was going to survive working with this crazy girl. There were the story assignment meetings, after which the two editors would lounge on the Robo couches, eating goldfish and giving each other life advice long after the writers had gone.

Then there were their 1 a.m. treks to Late Night Collis, after the Mirror had been published, when Caroline would search for anything with “chocolate, raspberry or coconut” and Hayley would, to Caroline’s surprise, get caffeinated coffee. Or their trips to Swirl and Pearl, or run-ins around the library, or meals at Foco.

Hayley and Caroline sadly realize that all of this is coming to an end.

This issue is themed around endings, as apart from this note it consists entirely of columns done by graduating seniors – Mirror columnists and The Dartmouth’s 2015 Directorate. Enjoy their insightful, articulate and candid narratives, and take heed of their wise advice. And if nothing else, remember the sage words of Dartmouth’s very own Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Congratulations on graduating, ’16s.

follow @thedmirror

05.25.16 VOL. CLXXIII NO. 89 MIRROR EDITORS HAYLEY HOVERTER & CAROLINE BERENS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF REBECCA ASOULIN PUBLISHER RACHEL DECHIARA

EXECUTIVE EDITORS MAYA PODDAR

COLUMN

By Joe Kind

The time has come for me to lip-sync for my life.

Oh, how the time has passed. I can no longer break down my time at Dartmouth as three-and-a-fraction years. It’s too close to the end to pretend I am not standing at the edge of the real world.

That is, in a few measly days, I will walk on a stage, accept a piece of paper and walk off a stage.

My life is no longer a rehearsal. Not that I will ever stop learning, and memorizing and acting.

Graduation brings out a slew of emotions, feelings, sentiments, whatever you want to call them. It is not in anyone’s best interests for me to describe them.

In my brainstorm for this final column, I thought of how my first column began and ended with references to Drake lyrics. I have worked every muscle in my 10 jittery fingers to avoid doing so again. Because come on, am I not better than that?!

And in all honestly, with another year of lessons — learned and lost, in all honesty — I’d like to think that I am indeed “better than that.”

Green Key weekend left me exhausted, due to all that warm weather no doubt. I have never experienced back-toback-to-back concerts before, let alone so many consecutive days spent mostly on my feet. It is with sad news that I announce the very near passing of one of my long-time favorite pairs of sneakers, harmed by all the crowds and jumps and tip-toes. There were, plain and simple, a few too many bruises incurred.

Week nine of the term is here, somewhat suddenly. I have to admit a part of

’19 #1: “Why do vegetables make you bloat?” ’19 #2: “There’s a lot of air in them.” ’19 #1: “Does that mean I should breathe less?”

me is relieved. In the nearing end, the choices I have had yet to make are starting to make themselves. With or without my prompting, I cannot help but feel the movement of the term hit me like an ocean wave on my turned back. I had to know it was coming, and yet it managed to really startle me.

I love the ocean. I grew up by one, and it is probably a reason why I became a college swimmer. I was one of those kids that never took breaks from the water; it never bothered me when my hands pruned, or when I had to pee. Everybody does it, right?

Some habits are not meant to be broken. Take exercise as one of them. My body is feeling the burn post-Green Key and still craves time in the gym. I think it is really starting to realize how much better my days on the swim team were for it. Alas, the real world will come around, and I will actually do what I need to do.

For my happiness and sanity.

What does the real world have in store for me, for my happiness and sanity?

Time will tell. Just like time has told me what Dartmouth can do for my happiness and sanity — or, more importantly, what Dartmouth cannot do for my happiness and sanity.

For example, Dartmouth cannot protect me from my own misgivings about who I am.

Dartmouth cannot guarantee me a job, no matter how much I want to believe otherwise.

Dartmouth cannot even ensure I will make friends here.

But Dartmouth can provide me with incredible resources and opportunities

’17: “Well, we pretty much started drinking Wednesday night and I didn’t really stop until Sunday morning.”

Student #1: “And then I walked into the library and found two people f******.”

Student #2: “Oh. the stacks?”

Student #1: “No, East Asia. I think they were too drunk to find the stacks.”

to make the most of these woods while I am here.

Dartmouth can encourage me to express myself and my opinions.

Dartmouth can expose me to brilliant mentors, faculty and upperclassmen alike.

Like I said last September: I never started at the bottom. I ended up here, through my ups and downs, and I have no choice but to be proud of how I got here. I made it, and yet in the greater scheme of things I am only just beginning.

Even more than a degree, Dartmouth offers a kind of script for life, to memorize and to cherish. All I can really do is mouth the words, even if I have yet to fully internalize what they mean. Hopefully my audiences will understand me.

Before my columns descend into the oblivion, I want to take the time to thank those most important to me and my life.

You know who you are, I hope. And I want to thank my editors for putting up with my rambles and jambles for three terms. It is truly an honor to be taken at least somewhat seriously.

There is so much to this life beyond a single set of outcomes or standards to aspire to. And yet as one of my most important life milestones inches closer and closer, I cannot help but marvel in the moments I do have left here. In spite of my day-to-day funds now wiped away by the College, as if I did not have two more full weeks of school, these last few classes may be my last ever. Who knows?

If you are reading this, it is not too late to tell me what to do with my life. It will never be too late.

’17: “I made out with this chick at the Green Key concert. I thought I knew her and asked if she was an ’18 and she said, ‘Yeah, I’m 18.’”

’19: “I feel like grad students going to frat parties is the equivalent of us going to a bar mitzvah.”

MIRROR //3

Sam’s Little Larks

TRENDING @ Dartmouth

FORMAL FLITZES

COLUMN

That moment before you press “send” — arguably the most stressful event of the term.

By Sam Van Wetter

PREVIOUS SAM: Where should we talk?

PRESENT SAM: Let’s go to our favorite place.

PREVIOUS and PRESENT are on Collis porch eating breakfast sandwiches.

PREVIOUS: This one?

PRESENT: The other favorite place.

PREVIOUS and PRESENT are atop Holt’s Ledge dipping carrots into hummus.

PREVIOUS: This one, then.

PRESENT: This is our favorite place. But maybe the other one?

PREVIOUS and PRESENT are toasting marshmallows on the banks of Reservoir Pond.

PRESENT: A great spot, but I was thinking — PREVIOUS: Doesn’t “favorite” imply a superlative? Can there be more than one?

PRESENT: Having one favorite is like having one eye. You’re gonna miss some depth.

It is the last day of classes and simultaneously June 4, 2013 and May 31, 2016. PREVIOUS and PRESENT are reclined in hammocks strung between trees on a dusty bit of shore jutting into the Connecticut River. The water is like cellophane stretched taut across murky depths.

There is hardly a ripple. It is golden hour. The trees are bright with faint glow sundown and bats and swallows swing low over the water catching bugs. Smoke from a woodstove hovers downstream, an apparition departing Gilman Island. Everything is so splendid that it hurts. They each crack open a beer.

PRESENT: Cheers.

PREVIOUS: To you.

PRESENT: To us, of course.

You’re done with freshman year.

That feels nice.

PREVIOUS: Not as nice as graduating.

PRESENT: I am certain I’d much rather be where you are.

PREVIOUS: How do you feel?

PRESENT: Overwhelmed.

PREVIOUS: You’re done with classes, right? And that paper’s almost written. You’re in good shape.

PRESENT: Is vertigo a shape?

PREVIOUS: I’m not sure what you mean.

PRESENT: I think it’s like the bonfire.

PREVIOUS: What is?

PRESENT: Dartmouth. Four years. Like, it never seems that they leave enough time to build it. The Thursday before Homecoming there are but two pallets stacked together. And then, somehow, in hardly a day it grows and it grows and it towers and they put your class year up top. It’s your bonfire.

And for four years you are running around the inferno, seeing these faces and catching the arms of friends, running a lap, running another, bright stimulating excitement and the feeling of meant-to-be. And we stay to watch it collapse.

We cheer its collapse. It means the fire was hot enough and we ran long enough. Creation and destruction are so sweet in with each other. The next morning someone has cleared any ashy evidence of the pyre. You stand in the middle of the Green trying to remember what you have gained. It feels like nothing more than a sooty circle and tired legs.

PREVIOUS: You’re leaving with more than that.

PRESENT: Yes but what? I am not particularly skilled. I cannot build a motor or a car or an app. I don’t have a job or a fellowship or a boyfriend.

I can open a beer bottle with a lighter, and I can make a mean Foco to-go box but what am I gonna do with that in the rest of my life? I’m occupying all this brainspace trying to parse the difference between apathy and agency and passivity and creativity. I want to do it all over.

I want to fly fast out of here.

I’m assuming other people feel the same. But I don’t know. I’m not them. I can only be me and that’s heartbreaking sometimes.

PREVIOUS: We had a different sort of conversation on the first day of school.

PRESENT: Yeah?

PREVIOUS: You were much more — I don’t know — reckless? You said it was okay to be late for class. You wanted me to spend way too much time at Collis. You said syllabus day is a waste and everything is predetermined and exactly what it’s supposed to be.

PRESENT: Yeah.

PREVIOUS: What happened?

PRESENT: [Each of Sam’s Little Larks back to back; a marathon.]

PREVIOUS: That wasn’t an explanation. I actually have more questions now.

PRESENT: To be as unaccountably and inexplicably lucky as we have been is to, in turn, amplify and augment that wealth. I’m not very good with money and this is a midsize fortune.

PREVIOUS: It’s going to be okay.

PRESENT: Of course it is. It must be. Dartmouth has been the finest springboard I could leap from but I suspect the water is colder than I am used to.

PREVIOUS: But you know how to swim.

PRESENT: And if I didn’t, I couldn’t graduate.

They are quiet for a time. The night breeze is insufficient to sway their hammocks but they aren’t hoping for a windstorm. Their beer is still cold and the bats still flit.

PREVIOUS: You didn’t have any advice for me in September.

Predetermined and all that.

How about now?

PRESENT is silent for a long time.

PREVIOUS wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

PRESENT: I think we all want to go through the looking glass but we inevitably get caught up in our own likeness and so submersion becomes impossible. But the attempt — the reflection — is worth it. It must be. Advice? I only know myself, and I am made up of small things. So. Make dinner for your friends. Make a big pot of marinara sauce and noodles enough to strangle their hunger.

Eat garlic bread. Witness the concerts and performances and dances and readings of your peers. See how other people use their time. Be proud of them for it and let it affect you. Tell them that it did. Talk about your feelings.

Use metaphors. Find roofs for perching but don’t perch there too long. That roof is somebody’s ceiling. Sit in the sun.

Sit in the rain. Sit in the snow on a chairlift that moves too slowly. It is fast enough to get you there. Leave your phone at home. Look at people. See them. Walk around the library and see people. Walk across the Green and see people.

Walk through the Hop and grab Warner Bentley’s nose.

Hold on. He is yours for that moment and you can make that moment last forever but your legs will get tired and the building will close. Let the building close and thank the custodians when it does. Let the doors close and do not slam them shut. Sleep outside.

Go to cabins. Do it all over and over again. The repetition will not make it routine. The repetition will make it accordion out into such beautiful and memorable music. Sing that song and teach it to your friends. They’ll contribute some verses of their own. Take a dip in the river every day.

You will get wet and be better for it. Spend a golden hour with a good friend or a good book. Either will speak to you.

And once the sun has set and the day’s light ceases to show you the way, do not turn on a flashlight. Darkness is natural and navigable. Take your towel from the tree and put your hammock in its stuff-sack.

Pack your backpack. Put your shoes on. Walk away and concern not about whether you made the place better. Know that you have been made better. That won’t fit in your backpack but you can take it home with you, too.

FINALS

Prepare yourself for Novack dinners.

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND

An extra day off — so much fun! (Yeah, we wish. See above: finals.)

DBA STRUGGLES

You’re either that person begging people for money, or you’re the person buying KAF cakes for fun.

GREEN KEY RECOVERY

Yes, this weekend was awesome. But now we pay for it with all-nighters, random bruises and searches for lost items.

4// MIRROR

Through the Looking Glass: Lessons I Learned COLUMN

By Charlie Rafkin

Dartmouth has strengthened me a great deal, but it has cut me down in certain ways, too. That’s mostly been for good.

The College is intended to provide its students with confidence, and I’ve certainly become empowered — educationally, socially, emotionally. I’ve enjoyed, above all, a number of wonderful friendships here. I’ve fallen into a few exceptional academic opportunities that have changed my aspirations and frame of reference. I’m lucky enough to feel able, really able, to accomplish my goals.

But even as Dartmouth has given me confidence, it has also forced me to reassess decisions I made because I was too self-assured and helped me see that I’m not quite as independent as I thought I was.

Maybe this is all too abstract, so I’ll give some examples. There are the smaller things — blunders on presentations I thought I had nailed, the dozens of times when I raised my hand to answer quickly and missed the boat entirely.

But I’m more concerned about the deeper errors. One of my best friends today is a person whom I hardly noticed my freshman or sophomore years because I didn’t listen hard enough to what he was saying. How great could it have been if we became friends sooner? Or what if I never paid attention at all?

How many people are there at Dartmouth whom I’ve missed because I wasn’t looking hard enough?

I came late to the discipline I think I want to study for the rest of my life because, as a 20-year-old who had never taken a college-level course in the subject, I thought myself knowledgeable enough to reject the topic entirely. What if I hadn’t ended up in the job that piqued my interest? Or what if I had been able to squeeze more out of my studies here?

I stuck with one main extracurricular project, the student newspaper, throughout my entire time at Dartmouth.

Certainly, I learned a great deal by working in Robinson Hall toward a goal that I cared about. Even so, I joined the student newspaper the first week of my freshman year. So I have to wonder: was I really searching to find the activities that excited me, or did I somehow think I had it all figured out?

The worst part of all is that I was even warned not to submit to this instinct.

Before I arrived at Dartmouth, my dad gave me really exceptional advice. Give people a fair shot, he said. People will surprise you, so be charitable. It’s amazing how, even when I knew the advice was good advice, even when I already knew that I approached a great deal of interactions with far too much hubris for someone who hadn’t really earned it, I still managed to ignore what he said.

My time at Dartmouth, despite the confidence I’ve gained, has helped me see that I am not nearly as thoughtful, rational or charitable as I could be Dartmouth has also helped me observe

that I’m not as independent a person as I thought I was, either. One winter, I had

“Actually studying abroad in Paris, or working a job I loved, didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. It felt infuriating to work hard to land a job that felt meaningful, or to finally study in a city I loved — only to have my happiness depend on the people I was around.” the opportunity to study abroad in Paris.

I have studied French since I was 8 years old, and I have wanted to live in France ever since. But on a foreign study program without any close friends, when I hardly knew anyone in the city, I felt lonely. I remember walking around the city after class and wishing that I had found some other people with whom I could enjoy

the experience. I couldn’t believe that, despite the immense privilege of studying abroad in Europe, I somehow did not feel carefree.

The next fall, I worked at a job that I loved — the one that inspired me to change my academic course entirely. But I was living in a city without many students I knew, and I felt the same loneliness.

Actually studying in Paris, or working a job I loved, didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. To enjoy the experience, I needed to share it with friends. It felt infuriating to work hard to land a job that felt meaningful, or finally to study in a city I loved — only to have my happiness depend on the people I was around.

Yes, humans are social animals. Yes, there’s no great shame in enjoying other people. And I guess that if I had, say, retreated to the wilderness for a term and fished salmon in Alaska, then it would not really surprise me to feel lonely — that’s sort of the point of the exercise. But to live in a big city, conduct work I cared about, and wish, nevertheless, that I was just near familiar people? That struck me as coddled, even weak.

I learned about myself from being away from others, and of course I’d do it again. But throughout my time at the College, and especially my time away from Dartmouth, I’ve learned just how reliant on being around friends I am. I wish I felt hardier — more capable of

venturing out on my own.

With graduation, I won’t have a choice. And while I’m excited for the chance to live in a city as an adult and to learn more about myself away from the shelter of a small liberal arts college, I’ll confess that I’m also scared. I wonder whether I’ll ever enjoy communities as

“I wonder whether I’ll ever enjoy communities as rich as the ones I’ve found here, and I’m frightened to leave them behind.” rich as the ones that I’ve found here, and I’m frightened to leave them behind.

Dartmouth has cut me down in exactly the right places. I’ve learned not to leap into decisions guided by unexamined assumptions, and I’ve learned that, to some extent, I’m still dependent on other people. Still, I suppose I do know, abstractly, that it is the right time to go — that I’ll learn more from being away from the grooves of familiar friendships and coursework that I’ve built over four years. Yeah, I’m a little scared, deep in my guts. But whoever told you it’s so bad to be scared?

SAPHFIRE BROWN/THE DARTMOUTH

Charlie Rafkin ‘16 reflects on the lessons he’s learned about himself by spending time away from close friends.

MIRROR //5

Through the Looking Glass: Don’t Read Bad Reviews COLUMN

By Jasmine Sachar

When the Indian-American Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jhumpa Lahiri gave a lecture at Dartmouth last week, I sat in my seat, jittering with nervous energy.

The elegant and eloquent woman sitting before us had long been my literary idol. Her rich, vibrant works about the immigrant experience in America — from “The Namesake” to her short stories in “Interpreter of Maladies” — resonated with me from a young age, the daughter of Indian immigrants, perpetually grappling with the balancing act of several competing identities.

When the time came for open audience remarks, I mustered up the courage to ask her a question. I stood up. The microphone squeaked. She looked at me intently.

“You’re a prolific writer and a lot of your work has been met with critical acclaim. But a lot of it has been met with negative or mixed reviews. How do you handle the negative reviews?”

The audience fell silent, and Ms. Lahiri sat for a few seconds, pursing her lips.

I was implicitly referring to her new book “In Other Words” — that she had written in Italian, not her first language — which had received a searing critique from The New York Times. Lahiri had hit success early on in her career, and I wondered how it felt to know nominally that you were a great artist, but to inevitably create works that did not meet the same early acclaim.

“I don’t read reviews,” she said bluntly.

There will always be people who love your work and people who hate it, she explained. If you start trying to please everyone, you lose yourself as an artist.

Her words landed on me powerfully as the resounding culmination of a feeling and attitude that has been stirring inside me since I was a young girl. Stop caring about the opinions of others. Stop tuning into the minutia.

Careless adjectives have been thrown at me my whole life. As a little girl, I was called “ugly” and “annoying” and “different.” By my early teens, I became “weird” and a “know-it-all” with “gorilla legs.” In high school, I was “arrogant” and “insanely competitive” (and still to my dismay “weird looking”). Now at Dartmouth, I am “brash,” “aggressive,” “blunt” and “sassy.”

For most of my life, I lived with a paralyzing fear of these words and the errant opinions of those who used them against me. With every new criticism, I would pause and attempt to tweak myself, spending weeks agonizing over how to make myself more palatable. But the tweaks would never stick. Was I supposed to make myself blander, to blend in, to abandon all the idiosyncrasies that made me, well, me? If I knew myself to be a kind, hard-working person trying to put out good vibes into the universe, why play tug of war with my critics, usually people who didn’t know me at all, who

TIFFANY ZHAI/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF

Jasmine Sachar ‘16 reflects on the importance of loving and valuing oneself, even in the face of criticism or difficulty.

functioned off the shallow dips of first or second impressions?

As I learned finally in my senior year of college, growing up means mastering the art of loving yourself.

And I wish I could write about the

“In loving yourself in all these moments, you start to see yourself as an individual beautiful in all your contradictions, a magnificent package of energy creating and fighting for your place in the world.

And you learn to care less or not at all about how you look to your critics.” moment I had this epiphany, as if there was just one. But I guess there was one night last month I was having drinks with a friend at Pine who was having a terrible weekend, and after just five minutes of sitting down, he said to me, “You can always make me happy on a shitty day,” and I smiled and thought, “Hmm. That’s nice.”

When you love yourself, living becomes a little easier. And I’m talking

about loving yourself not when you’re at your most successful and glorious and kind and funny but loving yourself in your not so glamorous moments, when you’ve failed that midterm for which you studied for days; when you said something stupid to your friend or a stranger when drunk; when you look at your smudged eyeliner in the mirror after stumbling home from a TDX dance party, feeling lonely; when your college love puts out his cigarette on your heart; when you don’t get any of the prestigious internships at banks and consulting firms your friends are getting; when you still don’t have a job, even though it’s Commencement Day. In loving yourself in all these moments, you start to see yourself as an individual beautiful in all your contradictions, a magnificent package of energy creating and fighting for your place in this world. And you learn to care less or not at all about how you look to your critics. Because they don’t know you. Because they can’t even scratch the surface.

At Dartmouth, I’ve found that most of us fall into the trap of measuring our worth based on a set of arbitrary, external standards. We think these will show others our worth and silence the critics once and for all. But how delicate of a tight rope that is. You want to be in a good Greek house, to be tapped for a society, to be social but not too facetimey and social climby, to be smart and accomplished but not a homebody, to get a fabulous job but not brag about

it. How exhausting it is to worry about what people think of us. How crippling and trivial. How small it all seems when you realize that when we leave this place

“How exhausting it is to worry about what people think of us.

How crippling and trivial. How small it all seems when you realize that when we leave this place today, we face our future more or less alone.

In the real world, you come home after a long day of work, look in the mirror and realize you only truly have yourself.” today, we face our future more or less alone. In the real world, you come home after a long day of work, look in the mirror and realize you only truly have yourself. So impress yourself. Forgive your shortcomings. Hug your quirks. The right people will rejoice with you. And to hell with the critics. Don’t read your negative reviews.

6// MIRROR

Through the Looking Glass: Reflecting by the River STORY

By Laura Weiss

that the College just wasn’t right for someone I cared about so much, my relationship to Dartmouth changed.

Since that spring I have convinced numerous friends to trek down to the river with me, in the icy middle of winter, at 2 a.m. and during a mosquito-infested day of sophomore summer, often at times of highs or

COURTESY OF REBECCA SCHANTZ

Laura Weiss ’16 stands across from Dartmouth Hall during her last spring at Dartmouth.

On my last day on campus at the end of freshman year, the air was heavy with impending rain and the sky was the color of slate. I was sitting on the Ledyard boathouse dock with my roommate waiting for the sunset that never pushed through the clouds.

Quarter-sized raindrops started tumbling out of the sky, but we stayed, uselessly tying sweatshirts around our heads. Branches and leaves flew by as the river swelled and its banks turned to thick mud. For two hours, we talked in the rain.

I was terrified at the thought of leaving Dartmouth for the summer.

Even three months away seemed like a time span that would never end. No part of me wanted to move out of the River Cluster and to leave French Hall behind. And then, sitting huddled on the dirt-splattered dock, rocking with the current, my roommate told me she wasn’t coming back. Everything inside me constricted in shock. I had not picked up on a thing that would lead me to think she might transfer, but as she explained I saw it all suddenly. I told her I understood, and that while I loved Dartmouth and that she had been one of my favorite parts of it over the previous year, I knew that didn’t have to mean it was the right place for her.

That night by the river was the first time I let myself accept that my college experience would come with imperfections. From the day I sent in my application, I felt ready to leave high school, ready to go somewhere else on my own. I could not get there fast enough. I felt like I had outgrown high school. Days into orientation, looking back, I had decided I had to be happy and love every part of my experience — I had wanted to be here for so long. I wanted go back home and gush about perfect, beautiful Dartmouth. My birthday was on the first day of classes in the fall and naturally I was homesick, but I choked it down and decided it was my best birthday yet.

Then, at the end of the summer after my freshman year, which had been going far better than I had hoped on the docks in early June, my uncle

died. He was young, though his health was not in good shape. But it was sudden, and it was my first experience with loss. My family all told me how happy they were that I would be back at Dartmouth — a place I loved with friends to support me, so I decided I would be happy about it.

I spent my sophomore fall feeling entirely out of place. I would wake up in the morning feeling worried about how my grandparents were doing after losing their son, wanting to go spend time talking with them, but feeling like I had too much work to make time for a call each day. I wanted to hug my mom every morning and spend time talking about my uncle with people who understood how close to him I felt, but how complicated his life had been, a constant struggle with severe mental illness. Still, I tried to push those feelings out of Hanover and separate them.

But slowly, I began to learn deciding to be happy is useless. I loved Dartmouth, but it didn’t have to mean I always felt I was in the right place.

My relationship with Dartmouth has become ever-changing in a way that is far better and far healthier than my freshman year blind love. In high school I assumed that every impulse to leave my suburb was because I had outgrown it. But no place and no experience will always feel right, whether for a day or for a few months.

In early February, about six months after I lost my uncle, my grandfather died. I had just finished the second round of rush when I got a missed call and a text from my Dad to call him immediately. A friend was with me when I called him back, standing in front of Baker-Berry as fluffy snow fell sporadically, and she held me up and guided me to the closest room of one of our friends, where I laid in her bed for hours dealing with the loss. I went home for the funeral. My most vivid memory from the funeral was at the graveyard. There was a golden-purple sunset lighting up the sky and I could see it out of the corner of my eye as I shook in my cousin’s arms, hearing the pounding thud of dirt hitting the coffin.

I came back and dove back into Dartmouth. But this time, it was therapeutic. I felt sure every day that, as much as I felt like I was grieving, I was glad it was in snowy zero-degree Hanover. That term was difficult. I took hard classes, struggled with loss.

Not to mention, it was sophomore winter, a cold term when many of my friends were off. But I look back on it positively because coping with the loss I felt was inevitable, but then, Dartmouth was the right place for me to be doing it.

That last day of freshman year during the torrent, sitting covered in grass and my hair dripping, realizing

lows. People often find places that, inexplicably, hold a lot of meaning for them; for me, that place is the river docks. As I sit here now, I feel the same sense of attachment that I did at the end of freshman year. But having let go of the forced and blind ideal that I felt then, I know that graduating will be just a necessary shift.

The Story of Us STORY

MIRROR

//7

By Mary Liza Hartong and Andrew Kingsley

Week after week you, the loyal readers of our column, pick up the Mirror and brace yourselves for a whole lot of crazy. Things like, “How do they do it?” and “Have they found Jesus?” and “There’s medication for that” run through your minds as you read our stories. But enough about you, you sniveling consumerists.

Let’s talk about us! For our final column we shall share with you the story of how we met.

You’ve heard of “When Harry Met Sally” and this, dear readers, is nothing like that.

It was the fall of 2013, a time of bright leaves and even brighter spirits. Dartmouth was still in the Stone Age, having not been “moved forward” yet. Andrew, then a young, upstart pre-med, and Mary Liza, who still wore makeup and straightened her hair, met for the first time on the Green while talking to a mutual friend. Soon we found ourselves alone. We

both needed to study. We both wanted human contact. We both had to pee. Thus, we took the first leap of friendship and agreed to study together in the bowels of Kemeny. In the course of the next three hours, approximately three minutes of studying occurred. Everything else was a flurry of note passing, giggling, scurrying, flinging goggles and disturbing Dartmouth’s entire scientific community. We set science back a whole decade that night. Just think, asthma could have been cured.

Over the next few weeks we grew closer and closer. We shared movies: Andrew’s hard-towatch, artistic interpretations of gruel and Mary Liza’s hopelessly romantic, carnival ride romps through unrealistic expectations.

Together we were perfect. We ate our nightly Chef Boyardee with just one spoon. Elton and Idina, united at last.

“So, was it love?” you ask. Well, Mary Liza had the same question. “He always tells me I’m beautiful and fabulous and says ‘What a dynamite skirt, where can I get one?’” Mary Liza pondered. “Either he’s gay or in love with me. If my movies have taught me anything, it’s always the latter.” That fateful night, Mary Liza attempted to snuggle Andrew into a confession.

Turning, Mary Liza asked, “Andrew, what are we?” Ever so cynically Andrew responded, “Human beings? Matter? Garbage?” Mary Liza pressed on. “No, what ARE we?” Andrew shut the door. Here comes the big kiss! “I’m gay,” Andrew admitted. A million girls’ hearts sank at that moment, but Mary Liza was overjoyed. This was the most perfect rejection, as it did not indicate any flaw besides her anatomy.

It wasn’t the size of her breasts; it was her breasts. Huzzah! Ain’t life grand?

Though other people still assumed we were dating — was it the cuddling, the slobbering, the matching skirts? — we knew our relationship was something better than dating. We were friends with benefits, those benefits being eating each other’s food, Mary Liza acting as Andrew’s beard and serving as costume buddies on Halloween.

Then, with little warning, Andrew had to leave the country. He had to leave for his preplanned off term teaching English in Ghana.

Mary Liza was heartbroken. She sent him a Valentine’s package bursting with Kit Kats and notes, which were later sent back to her by the Ghanian mail. Apparently raccoons are consid-

ered contraband overseas. Go figure. “But you had spring term, didn’t you?” you ask. Hush, fiend. Alas, Mary Liza was to be in Paris all spring dillydallying and “writing a book.” While Paris was Paris, Mary Liza was lonely and Skyped Andrew as often as she could. One day, after a particularly humiliating experience with a pigeon and a croissant, Andrew announced over Skype that he would be visiting Mary Liza in Paris. For one glorious week we got to prance about the city of lights like the not-lovers we were, eating a crêpe here, destroying the image of Americans there. We’ll always have Paris.

Since then it’s been two years peaches and cream and Chef Boyardee. Andrew escorted Mary Liza to her debutante ball last Thanksgiving. When asked, “What do you think of Mary Liza?” by her Southern relatives, Andrew acted as straight as he could and responded, “She’s… something.” Mary Liza shared a mostly eaten macaroni and cheese bite with Andrew in 2014 because, “I think something’s wrong with it.”

Andrew had Mary Liza’s name written in lights on her birthday this year. We realize, looking at this list, that one of us might be slightly higher maintenance than the other. So maybe we weren’t meant to fall for each other, reproduce and slowly grow apart until one of us starts sleeping in the guest room and inviting Sam from accounting over for “drinks.” And we won’t have to, seeing as we’ve both found love since then — shout out to D and J. However, no matter what else happens in our silly, wonderful, bizarre lives, we will always have Kemeny.

8// MIRROR

Through the Looking Glass: Perfectly Imperfect COLUMN

By Maddie Brown

When I promised my little sister that I would take her friend Sam out at Dartmouth during my freshman spring, I had no clue what I was getting myself into. As we wandered from Collis towards Webster Avenue, Sam — then a high-school junior — walked with swag, high-fiving and saying hello to everyone that we passed. People probably thought he was drunk, but he was completely sober and just trying to have fun and feel out if Dartmouth was right for him. At a fraternity, he greeted the kid on door-duty with a big “WHAT’S UP” and a full-blown handshake that turned into bro-hug. The door-duty kid shot me a confused look, and I ushered Sam towards the basement. At this point, I was pretty nervous about bringing him downstairs. He knew absolutely nothing about the delicate relationships and social norms that existed at Dartmouth, and so, in my head, he was bound to do something embarrassing. As my schmob of friends and I danced in the dimly lit basement, I saw Sam eyeing the tall blond girl at the bar talking to some of the fraternity members. I instantly recognized her — she was the senior girl on H-Croo that everybody had a crush on.

Before I knew it, Sam was walking up to her. I cringed and wanted to leave as I saw him talking to her and all of the older boys.

What was he saying? Did he ask if they knew me? (Obviously they didn’t.) He was totally ignorant of any social norm — I was embarrassed for him.

In retrospect, however, Sam reminds me of the Maddie that first came to Dartmouth. I was so unbelievably naïve, but at the same time, I was very confident in myself and in my actions. I smiled and waved at everyone I recognized, asked random people at Foco if they were ’16s and entered any social space without hesitation.

I had absolutely no clue what I wanted to study or do with my life, so I chose classes that sounded interesting to me. I wore flair out every single night in the fall because I thought it was just so Dartmouth. I flitzed randos because I thought that, too, was just so Dartmouth. Yes, I was the most blatant freshman. But I was eager to have fun,

“I smiled and waved at everyone I recognized, I asked random people at Foco if they were ’16s, and entered any social space without hesitation. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to study or do with my life, so I chose classes that sounded interesting to me. I wore flair out every single night in the fall because I thought it was just so Dartmouth.”

make friends and find out what I could do with my life.

At some point, however, this self-confident Maddie started to fade a bit. I’m not saying I completely changed who I was, but I started to pick up on several of the norms associated with Dartmouth culture and became more aware of my behavior in social settings. I noticed the kinds of outfits that people wore out — not flair — and started to wear similar ones. I developed slight anxiety when entering social spaces — what

if I didn’t know anybody when I walked inside? What if (insert person who I have had an awkward encounter with) is inside? I also became more aware of stereotypes associated with different Greek houses, sports teams

“When I hear that loneliness is one of the biggest problems at our college, I paint a picture in my head of a hallway full of students within their own dorm rooms lying on their bed with the lights off and their phone screen illuminating their faces. I kind of wish there was a moment in which all the walls would all down and everyone would look to their left and right and see they are not alone.” and clubs. When someone would ask who a person was, I learned to answer things like, “Oh, Maddie? She’s a ’16 Chi-Delt from Texas,” or “He’s unaffiliated, and I think he’s on the crew team and used to date so and so.” At a small school like Dartmouth, it is easy to put people into little boxes. It’s also easy to look around, especially at the people that surround you, and assume that there’s a list of things that constitute what Dartmouth is and what Dartmouth is not.

But by discovering norms through observations, I developed unachievable ideals. I created an image of the perfect Dartmouth student — she was an athletic, straight-A student who went out a lot and made time for her friends and family. She stayed up late and woke up early. She was a hooligan dancing on elevated surfaces on a Wednesday night, but then completely poised and prepared in her 10A the next morning. She was perfect and always happy, and I wanted to be her. So I tried, and I failed.

At Dartmouth, it appears as if everyone is always okay. It’s not the norm to have a shitty term or two shitty terms or even a whole shitty year. Even in the KAF line or passing someone on the Green, people are taken aback if you honestly answer that you are “Just fine” as opposed to the “Everything’s great!” that they are expecting. Everyone seems so happy all the time. It took me a while to find out that this is not the case.

I remember the first time I wasn’t very happy with Dartmouth. I was on the coach returning to campus after a two-week mental health leave during sophomore summer, and I was absolutely terrified to come back to campus — terrified to face my friends, professors and classmates, and to admit that I had failed. Terrified to return to the seemingly toxic environment that pushed me to extremes. I didn’t want to be labeled as the not-okay one because mental illness was not something that was part of the ideal Dartmouth story. I remember fighting back tears as the coach circled the Green, myself looking down at the scene of picnicking students unaware of my absence and arrival.

It doesn’t take mental illness to become disillusioned with Dartmouth. Maybe Dartmouth is not as intellectual as you had hoped it would be. You frown as hungover students bullshit answers to prize-winning professors. The same people that you see

peeing in a fraternity basement or cheating on an exam are the ones in charge of certain clubs or teams at Dartmouth. It seems like a sick joke. Or maybe it’s the moment you find yourself drifting away from friends — the moment you go from trippees to acquaintances to someone you don’t even say hello to on the Green. The moment your best friends from an FSP become a once-a-term catch up dinner or a drunken hug at Late Night Collis.

Or maybe something truly bad happens — a sexual assault, a death in the family, a racist or sexist crime — and you find yourself surrounded by a seemingly apathetic community. There comes to be a time when you really need help, but it seems as if everyone’s biggest concern is whether they got full points on question 23 or if it is going to rain on Green Key Friday. Sometimes I even find myself feeling sad for no reason.

It’s the Sunday after a big weekend and all the fun has already been had. Or it wasn’t what I expected. And even if it was what I expected, I still find myself feeling inexplicably empty.

But being not okay at Dartmouth is perfectly okay. It’s actually pretty empowering to admit that you are not fine. To tell someone that you failed, you cried, you are lonely. To share the not-so-perfect side of yourself with someone and to discover that you are not the only one who feels this way. When I hear that loneliness is one of the biggest problems at our college, I paint a picture in my head of a hallway full of students within their own dorm rooms lying on their bed with the lights off and their phone screen illuminating their faces. I kind of wish there was a moment in which all the walls would just fall down and everyone would look to their left and right and see that they are not alone. That there is such a

community that is ready to catch them.

I know that I am not perfect and that sometimes I am not okay. I am proud to know this. And I’m also proud to be a part of the Dartmouth community. I have learned that I can do what I want and I don’t care what others think. I actually get a strange amount of satisfaction when I am told that I am the weirdest person that someone knows.

I can fail, I can succeed, I can be proud.

I can scream “WHAT’S UP” as loud as I can on top of Baker tower if I want to — I am not trying to please anyone else other

“It’s actually pretty empowering to admit that you are not fine.

To tell someone you failed, you cried, you are lonely. To share the not-so-perfect side of yourself with someone and to discover that you are not the only one who feels this way.”

than myself. I have always thought that there is something magical about Dartmouth. Something that pushes me away at times, but always seems to pull me back in.

It is relentless but forgiving; heartbreaking but kind. It is perfectly imperfect, and I love it.

COURTESY OF MADDIE BROWN

Maddie Brown ’16 reflects on the value of admitting and accepting that you are not okay.