MIR ROR 2.22.2017
LOTS AND LOTS OF SNOW TO THROW! | 4-5
GUO: "100 NIGHTS" UNTIL GRADUATION | 7
SANDHU: RELIVING DARTMOUTH PAST |8 TANYA SHAH AND ERIC WANG/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF
2 //MIRR OR
Editors’ Note
Search for the Golden Spike COLUMN
We talk a lot about the quintessential Dartmouth “rites of passage” throughout this issue, like staying up all night to eat Lou’s, swimming across the river naked or jumping in freezing water over Carnival. For us, our Dartmouth experience has been punctuated by a long string of smaller moments — moments that surprised us, made us cry, made us fall in love with this place and its people. Ali: One Dartmouth moment that always makes me laugh was the infamous stripper fiasco of ‘13 fall. It was the second week of freshmen fall and my friends and I wanted to do something special for our friend’s 19th birthday. We wanted to embarrass our friend as much as possible, so we decided to bring in a stripper from Boston. We piled over 100 people into a Russell Sage dorm room and watched him dance for our friend. It was truly the most uncomfortable 10 minutes of my entire life. Later that night, he told us he came out of stripper retirement for the night, so you can only imagine what his performance was like. Despite how cringeworthy the experience was, the next day, we felt like legends. Oh, and it was reported in the D a few days later. It was definitely our peak. Mikey: My first Lou’s challenge was after staying up for three days writing papers for finals. I was about to leave campus for my first FSP, so I wanted to take in as much time with my friends as possible. We stayed up all night, watching movies and talking. I was about to collapse from exhaustion at 3:35 a.m., but knew that I would regret not going through with the challenge. To keep me awake, I made my friends ask me obscure trivia questions, as one does. Taking the first bite of my Big Green at Lou’s felt victorious and bittersweet because in that moment, I felt lucky to have such close friends, but also sad to leave them for the first time ever to embark on another adventure. Lucy: This past Carnival weekend, after some consideration and more peer pressure, I decided to do the polar plunge. It seemed like something that I needed to do before graduating — and why not now? So I walked to Occom Pond, hesitantly took off my boots and my sweatpants and my jacket, stood on the edge of the frozen pond and jumped. I didn’t really feel the cold until I had gotten out of the water, but when I did, it was probably the coldest I had ever felt. In that way, the polar plunge could be considered a sort of a biological rite of passage, as well as a cultural one (shoutout to Anthro 50.17). Once I thawed out and drank some hot chocolate, I decided that the Polar Plunge was worth it — plus, I even got a little Winter Carnival pin as proof of my accomplishment. Dartmouth gives you experiences you’ll remember long after you leave campus. Read on to hear about these unforgettable rites of passage, and maybe go give them a shot.
follow @thedmirror 2.22.17 VOL. CLXXIV NO. 35 MIRROR EDITORS MICHAELA LEDOUX ALEXANDRA PATTILLO LUCY TANTUM EDITOR-IN-CHIEF RAY LU
PUBLISHER RACHEL DECHIARA
EXECUTIVE EDITOR ERIN LEE
By Elise Wien
In my geography class, we learn that geologists use golden spikes to demarcate the beginning of a new geologic epoch. This is not metaphorical — they literally drive golden spikes into the rock. We read: “With this approach, some specific change in a sedimentary archive — like the beginning of that green-gray marl bed in an Italian quarry — is chosen to represent the transition between geological intervals and is named as a Global Boundary Stratotype Section and Point, or GSSP. Practicalities allowing, a golden metal marker may then be hammered into the relevant layer of rock: for that reason, GSSPs are often referred to as ‘golden spikes.’ The interval is defined by the change in the rock record where the golden spike is fixed. The timing of the interval is then derived by investigating the date of this tangible alteration in the composition of the earth … if the Anthropocene too is to be based on a golden spike, in line with this preferred approach, then a signal that represents its beginning must be picked out from among the multitude of recent transformations in the makeup of the planet.” — Jeremy Davies, “The Birth of the Anthropocene.” Davies argues that we are within the Anthropocene, an era in which human activities play as big a role in shaping the earth as certain other natural cycles (e.g., river movements, glaciation). Part of the issue with this is the process of determining when the Anthropocene began (if it has begun already). It is, of course, more complicated than this, but I’m working with a spatial limit here. There is a tension: how do we place a golden spike while we’re living in the epoch? This is all about looking at the present from the future, but I have trouble imagining a future so far ahead. I think I’m so struck by the concept of driving golden spikes into rock because it seems so un-scientific. I am reminded of consecration, the railroad spike of the First Transcontinental Railroad, piercing an adolescent’s ears — my mother said I could get my ears pierced when I got my period or when I turned 13, whatever came first. Looking back, this is sort of creepy. At what point can you adorn yourself ? When you get your period. The analog of piercing and penetration as we move from childhood to adolescence speaks to how little, maybe, we have left behind. I ask Corinne and Kayuri if they ever had any rites of passage. The conversation goes as follows: Me: hello / did either of u have rites of passage as kids? / religious ceremonies / baptisms / special birthdays etc? Kayuri: I had a big 16th birthday party lol Me: oh kaaay / theme? Kayuri: No theme just like all of my family and family friends / ’Twas nice / And when you’re a baby your aunt is supposed to roll you over and make you cry ceremoniously / Idk why Me: dope / do u remember? / or u were
told? Kayuri: Told I was straight 4 days old Me: makes sense Kayuri: But I’ve seen it happen to other babies / Weird ... Corinne: I was supposed to have a berry fast after my first period / But I didn’t / And I still haven’t got my name yet bc of colonialism / U kno? Me: is a berry fast where you don’t eat berries? / for how long? / also wut why? Corinne: U only eat berries for like 4 days Me: I feel like u told us / dank Corinne: And put ash on ur forehead Me: poop would be amazing / wait why no name? Corinne: Bc I haven’t got it yet or had my ceremony / Bc I’ve been at college forever Me: i c / what age is that usually at? Corinne: Baby / Youth Me: oh my Corinne: Is ok / I just need it before I die / I have it I just don’t know it yet Me: oh / i like that Corinne: Yah Me: were u baptized? Corinne: Idk my name / Yah I was baptized and had my first holy communion Elise: k. Clearly, the formalized rites didn’t have the biggest effect on us. They’re delayed, they never happen, their significance is lost altogether. We go on creating our own rites: A couple weeks ago at midnight, we battled in the campus-wide snowball fight on the green. My glasses became useless early on, so I took them off and pocketed them. I don’t exercise much and I miss contact sports, so any body, whether I knew it or not, became fair game. Roommate Corinne tackled me into a snow bank (she has an older brother) and Kayuri shoved snow into my face (she has a younger brother). We were out of breath by the end of it, and Corinne and I returned to the room to dry off, while Kayuri went, dripping, back to the library to finish a problem set. This is the year we graduate. I will be moving to Boston, Kayuri to New York and Corinne to Michigan. I have trouble imagining a future in which we do not live together. I have trouble imagining a future in which women cannot shove snow into their beloveds’ faces. I have trouble with stagnancy and desire. I have a memory of lying in the snow on the front lawn of my house. I was 5, maybe 6, and closing my eyes mid-snow angel. I have a memory of my mother running outside, frantic — “you can’t fall asleep out here, you’ll freeze, you nearly scared me to death.” I have trouble imagining a future that does not look like my memories. The snowball fight was one of those moments of such bliss that it forces us to think about the future. We think: “I am taking stock, I will remember this moment.” And if not through memory alone, then I’ll enter it in the geologic timescale by printing it here, and marking the moment with its own little golden spike: | .
MIRROR //3
'20: "I just chased three shots with cocoa puffs."
’19 #1: “Are you coming to the vagina monologues?” ’19 #2: “I don’t know if that’s appropriate. I won’t be cumming, I’ll be attending.”
'20: “I ran out of DBA from going to KAF so often and my family sent me 50 packs of oatmeal so now all I can eat is oatmeal.”
'19: "How do you get into the DOC? You're in it, right? Could you get me in??"
’19: "Being on 3FB is like going tanning, but instead of soaking up sun rays, it's facetime."
The biocultural impacts of rites of passage STORY
By Andrew Sosanya
Everyone has gone through a rite of passage in their life, whether it be graduating high school, getting their first driver’s license or even just having their first kiss. These socially defined rituals help mark a shift in social status or identity. Rites of passage are important because they provide meaning and structure to the everyday processes of life. They aren’t all happy experiences, however. A rite of passage could be a passage of loss, like the death of a loved one or a first serious medical diagnosis. They build who we are as individuals, change how others see us and change how we view the world. Anthropology professor Sienna Craig and medicine and microbiology and immunology professor Tim Lahey co-teach Anthropology 50.17, “Rites of Passage: The Biology and Culture of Life’s Transitions.” In the class, they look at the range of moments in human experience through the concept of rites of passage, observing how they are both biological
and sociocultural phenomena. Some of the course topics include sex, death, adolescence, mental illness, cancer and dementia. Craig said that rites of passage help us understand life. “[Rites of passage] provide people with a framework for understanding their individual experiences,” Craig said. College is a rite of passage, where there is a spike of social and biological changes that happen within an individual. During their four years in college, students independently form a sense of self and graduate with a more solidified sense of who they are as adults. “[College] makes for a rich time of personal formation and exploration,” Lahey wrote in an email. “This can heighten that sense of personal autonomy and self-sufficiency.” Lahey said that our biological processes can be shaped by our personal experiences. Rites of passage can cause shifts in how our bodies function. Biological and social developments play out in college where students are still risk-
takers but are expected to be mature. “While these social changes occur, frontal lobe development continues, and with it [there is] improved impulse control,” Lahey wrote. Rites of passage help form the identity of a community. A shared experience allows people to connect and relate to one another. Some students at Dartmouth bond over failing the same test or going on Dartmouth Outing Club trips together. Rites of passage also solidify community by passing on core knowledge, value and ethics from elders to young people. One of the most talked about rites of passage at Dartmouth is rush. Students choose to engage in a ritual where they separate themselves from the greater Dartmouth community and align themselves with a fraternity or sorority to make it part of their primary identity. Then, they enter a transitional phase where they go through all sorts of challenging tests, the purpose of which Craig said is “to tear you down and build you back up again in the form of the organization you are joining.” After successful completion of the rush process, students gain a new social identity when they integrate back into the community. “The world sees you differently, and you see yourself differently,” Craig said.
Some of these Dartmouth rites of passage are implicitly bound in biological processes, in the form of intoxication and other alterations of cognition. Rites of passage often involve an extreme or risky experience, according to Lahey. Lahey wrote that he could write a whole book on the rites of passage that he has undergone. “The first time I was inspired by a book, the first time I got in a fight, the first time I earned money, my first love, loss of virginity, living apart from my family, having my heart broken, voting, overseas travel, the death of someone I loved, getting married, graduating medical school, saving a life, seeing someone die, having a baby,” were all examples Lahey listed. Craig says that she experienced one of her most influential rites of passage in high school, where she survived a bus accident during her study abroad program, in which two of her friends died. “I came out transformed,” Craig said. “It was both a liberating experience and a traumatic experience realizing that death is everywhere.” Lahey wrote that rites of passage affect every aspect of our lives. “Rites of passage show us who we are, as organisms, as people within a culture, as unique people,” Lahey wrote.
4// MIRROR
Lots and lots of
A first Dartmouth STORY
It was 1:45 p.m. on Sunday, Feb. 12 when I first heard the rumors. In my floor’s GroupMe, someone had sent a picture of a poem, written in the familiar style of Dr. Seuss, announcing a midnight snowball fight on the Green. Had the moment we’d all been waiting for finally come? I first heard of the midnight snowball fight on the Green last term. Supposedly, it took place after the first major snowfall of the term, and an email from Dr. Seuss himself would be sent to all of campus announcing its arrival. However, during the first significant snowfall of fall term, no email was ever sent. Admittedly, it was in the middle of final exams, so my friends and I accepted that we would have to wait until winter term. Once I returned to campus in January, snow had enveloped the formerly green campus. Despite having lived in the warm southern regions of the United States for my entire life, I quickly learned that not all snow is equal: some snow is soft and fluffy, lending itself well to the creation of snowballs, while other snow is hard, icy and definitely not snowball material. The snow already on the ground was, unfortunately, of the latter
variety, so I would have to wait a bit more for the proper precipitation to arrive. But one snowfall occurred, and then another, and soon the general student population seemed to have just accepted that the snowball fight was canceled this year — by whom, no one knew, because no one knew who was in charge of organizing it in the first place. I resumed normal life, doing my best to conceal my disappointment. The morning of Thursday, Feb. 9 — the beginning of Winter Carnival — I looked outside my window to see a blanket of perfectly smooth snow surrounding my dorm. As if by cue, the weather had changed dramatically just in time for Winter Carnival. The frigid, snowy weekend was perfect for festivities such as the polar bear plunge and the ice sculpture competition … but no one expected the Carnival to extend into Sunday night. So when word got out that the snowball fight was finally, supposedly, happening, my friends and I were pumped. A campus-wide email was finally sent at 5:09 p.m., although it was from the Ledyard Canoe Club instead of from Theodor Geisel
By C
himself. The snowba happening. Convenien with my editors for the was sent out, so I eage narrative article abou Later that night, a decided to go around and ask ’20s what th snowball fight. The atm and uncertain. Some s many people would att believe that it was wo the Green instead of w My own priorities w p.m., I left my backpa made my way to the G As I made my way falling in plentiful am I was pleasantly surp congregation of studen Green. Before midnigh first snowballs had bee usually a tranquil are quickly bec utter pa I v that
MIRROR //5
snow to throw!
h snowball fight
Cristian Cano
all fight was officially ntly, I was in a meeting Mirror when the email erly accepted writing a ut the fight itself. around 11:30 p.m., I d Baker-Berry Library ey expected from the mosphere was hesitant students were unsure if tend, and others didn’t orth spending time on working on homework. were certain: At 11:55 ack in Baker lobby and Green. y there, the snow still mounts from the sky, prised to see a large nts dispersed across the ht had even arrived, the en thrown. The Green, ea during the winter, came the location of andemonium. very quickly realized I had not dressed
appropriately for the snowball fight at all. My pants were not water-resistant in the slightest, so they quickly became soaked with melted show. On the battlefield, however, mild discomfort is the furthest thing from one’s mind. I fought on. The powdery snow created a unique set of hazards. The snow itself was almost too soft for making compact snowballs, so many students resorted to throwing small snow clouds instead. I also realized that the Green is not a perfectly smooth surface — I nearly tripped many times as the snow hid small pits in the ground. Of course, for the people who did trip and fall, the snow conveniently doubled as a cushion. There were several noteworthy individuals who participated in the snowball fight. One student came dressed in a dinosaur onesie, and another brought their corgi into the fray. I saw a person dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and someone else who wielded a shield to properly defend against the never-ending barrage of snowballs. The fighting tactics of each student varied. Some preferred to stay in small groups, throwing snowballs across a small distance.
Other students ran all across the Green to chase their friends — and to escape from their pursuers. Many friendships were threatened by acts of betrayal, when friends who agreed to a truce later opened fire on each other. Particularly rambunctious students even went so far as to tackle their targets to prevent their escape. Personally, I experienced all of these forms of warfare, as both the perpetrator and victim. The snowball fight continued for about an hour, although the Green became less dense as the night progressed and students realized that they had class the next day. Some of my friends and I remained until 1:11 a.m. on Monday morning, proud to be the last group on the Green. By then, our sanity and any semblance of warmth had long since dissipated, but we were the self-proclaimed victors of the snowball fight. With that satisfaction, and the knowledge that my homework was far from completed, I slowly walked back to the library, one fewer Dartmouth rite of passage on my bucket list.
LUCY TANTUM/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF
6// MIRROR
Lest the old traditions fail STORY
#TRENDING
BALMY WEATHER
When 45 degree weather means shorts and a tank top.
WINSTON THE PIG ALL GROWN UP
We’re reminiscing about the days when he was just a little piglet.
SQUIRRELS
Who knew that squirrels did not hibernate??
TOUR GROUPS
Making it impossible to make it down the Novack stairs.
CAFFEINE INTAKE
It’s Week 8 baby and we’ll take that latte with three shots, thank you very much.
By Alison Hagen
“Did you know the ‘Lou’s challenge’ isn’t free?” my friend asked as we passed by Lou’s restaurant. “Of course,” I replied, baffled. She then explained that she thought students only stayed up all night to complete the challenge to earn a free breakfast. Without the free meal, she questioned why anyone would want to do the Lou’s challenge. My response: to accomplish the rite of passage and all of the fun or glory that follows. Although I did not know it at the time, I think I experienced my first rite of passage at Dartmouth when I innocently sat in a crowd of prospective ’20s at Dimensions, and to my surprise, Dartmouth students disguised as prospective students sitting next to me jumped up and began singing and dancing. It was a warm welcome to the crazy, passionate, free-spirited community at Dartmouth. After experiencing First-Year Trips and Homecoming in the fall, I became less surprised each time I learned about another eccentric tradition considered a rite of passage at Dartmouth. While many freshmen pride themselves in completing First-Year Trips, they quickly find more daring rites of passage during the fall term: running around the Homecoming bonfire, and for some, even touching it. A male ’20 recounted his experience at the Homecoming bonfire, and how he enjoyed touching the fire. He requested anonymity because of the judicial consequences of publicly admitting to touching the bonfire. “I don’t know that it was necessarily a rite of passage as much as just something fun to do,” the ’20 said. “There were definitely a lot of seniors involved in that evening for me, upperclassmen that were egging me on. I think that Dartmouth has a really cool history of traditions to be upheld.” The male ’20 believes that the “wholesome” traditions during big weekends are part of the reason he loves Dartmouth. “I like that [at Dartmouth] you can opt in to the activities you want to do, and then if something is a little too much for you, you don’t have to do it and there are no repercussions socially,” the ’20 said. A male ’19 also touched the fire this year since he was not able to do it as a freshman and also requested anonymity. Similar to the ’20’s experience, the ’19 does not feel his decision was a result of the desire to complete a rite of passage. “I think it was more of me thinking you only
live once and if I don’t do this, I’m going to be regretting it for the rest of my life and thinking I didn’t make the most of Dartmouth or I didn’t push myself out of my comfort zone when I was young and I had the chance,” the ’19 said. “I didn’t feel like I had to do it as a rite of passage, but I felt like it was something that I should do because I’m never going to have this opportunity again.” While some students may remember feeling nervous with the task of running around the bonfire, they often also remember their adrenaline and motivation to fulfill this rite of passage. “I was really happy that I went to the bonfire,” Joshua Lee ’19 said. “I didn’t want to go when I was a freshman, but I think when everyone’s yelling at you, it’s just empowering.” In addition, the ability to accomplish rites of passage with friends and other members of the community heightens their significance. “I think there’s some stuff that everyone will just agree to do and have fun with, like the snowball fight and Lou’s challenge,” Lee said. “On your own it would just be kind of boring, but the fact that we’re here at Dartmouth and everyone does it is just fun. I think it’s pretty necessary just to gain Dartmouth experience and do things with your friends but I don’t think it’s the most
necessary part. I feel like the most necessary part is taking classes.” Among the daring traditions at Dartmouth, students also find rites of passage within simpler activities. The ’20 even cited eating at Foco as one of these. Within the complex culture at Dartmouth, everyday actions that might seem unordinary certainly appeared at first as daunting rites of passage. In the end, completing small actions that are unique to Dartmouth students adds even more meaning to the college experience. “I think some of the smaller things I definitely also appreciated more than like touching the fire or doing the polar plunge,” the ’19 said. “Things like playing my first game of pong, going to my first fraternity party, starting my first college relationship, making my first solid college friendships, small things like that kind of add up and makes you feel more connected to the environment here.” So, did you shake the president’s hand when you officially matriculated? Did you attend the candle lighting ceremony at the BEMA? Were you brave enough to do the Ledyard Challenge? Can you brag to your friends about accomplishing the Dartmouth Seven? While these traditions may feel like rites of passage to some students, they may also just seem like adventurous things to try, or maybe even unnecessary foolish acts. Whether you accomplish them or find them maddening, you will get a great story to tell your friends from home about what it means to be a Dartmouth student.
MIRR OR //7
“100 nights” until graduation COLUMN
By Clara Guo
We drive along the Hudson River, having already said goodbye to the privacy of a house rented by eight West Point “firsties” for the weekend. My friend, Eric, is behind the wheel of his grandfather’s Thunderbird, and I sit in the passenger seat — the only other seat in the car. It’s the perfect day to celebrate “100th Night,” with temperatures soaring above 40 degrees and wispy cirrus clouds accentuating the blueness of the sky. “Do you see that house there? On our right?” Eric asks. “Yep. What about it?” “Apparently it used to be owned by Sylvester Stallone. You can see West Point from it — the gray walls and everything.” “Gray walls?” “Yeah. Surrounds the school.” We cross the bridge to Bear Mountain. A boat’s horn echoes below us. When we reach West Point, a security guard checks Eric’s ID, comments that he hasn’t seen a Thunderbird “in ages” and lets us through past the gates. After Eric parallel parks along the river, we walk through campus. I take my suitcase, inside of which reside black stilettos and a floor-length blue gown from Rent the Runway. Eric gives me a brief tour, naming barracks, mess halls and famous statues. West Point, as Eric points out, is gray. Very
much so. The buildings are tall and regal, built from granite. The Cadet Honor Code is engraved on a large stone near the entrance: “A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal or tolerate those who do.” We arrive at his barracks (which I incorrectly called “dorms” earlier that day). Eric, as the Company Commander, lives on the first floor with one of his best friends, across from the Company’s Tactical Officer. His floors are tiled, free of dirt and stains. His bed is expertly made, with gray blankets taped underneath the mattresses to ensure a tight surface void of wrinkles. His desk cabinets are locked. Closets are organized per regulation, official uniforms ironed, caps equally spaced apart. I feel like I have entered into a different world, a parallel college experience existing alongside but distinctly, jarringly separate from Dartmouth. A matrix of sticky notes decorates the wall next to his roommate’s bed, each note sporting a number written in thin black ink. The countdown until graduation begins at “98” and descends to “26.” A final sticky “…” marks the final weeks until commencement. Much too soon, “25” until “1” will replace “98” until “26.” We have an hour before we must leave for the military ball. Eric polishes his black
dress shoes in the corner and I sit in his desk chair, noting the Cyber Branch insignia on his ThinkPad. Two lightning bolts pierced by a sword. His roommate arrives shortly after with his date. He removes the “98” sticky on the wall and tosses it in the trash. 97 days until graduation. At 16:33, Eric’s friend group of six guys and their respective dates gather outside his door. The banquet officially starts at 17:00, but photos must be taken and compliments reciprocated. Eric turns to me. “Have I showed you the posters yet?” I shake my head, and our group of 12 walks down the hallway into a room temporarily designated the “Female Changing Area.” Five framed posters hang on the wall closest to the door: four in a line and one on top. Eric’s photo and accompanying “fun facts” are on the top-most board. The left-most poster notes West Point’s three pillars of excellence: military, academic and physical. At 16:47, we walk toward Washington Hall. Once there, several photos are taken: one of just the boys, one of just the girls, one of the girls with their dates and one of just Eric and me. This is the first and only West Point ball that does not require students to wear their military dress uniform. Eric and his friends are all consequently outfitted in “civilian” suits and ties, which they deem quite comfortable. Once inside the mess hall, we speed walk to our assigned table. The boys lead the way, and the girls follow slightly
slower, careful to avoid falling in our heels and gowns. It is now 16:59, and we have but one minute to be seated before the official announcements, speeches and toasts begin. Each seat is adorned with a name card. Mine says “Ms. Guo” underneath the United States Military Academy crest. A bald eagle rests atop a shield decorated with the American flag. In the middle of the shield lies the goddess Minerva’s helmet with a sword piercing through, representing wisdom and strategy. “Duty. Honor. Country” garnishes the top left. Dinner consists of rolls, salads, filet mignon, green beans, mashed potatoes and dessert. Every plate in the Hall is oriented so the crest faces upward. The guest of honor that night is a four-star general. His speech resounds with humor rooted in West Point traditions and ends on a sobering note that asks the Cadets to consider “Your Country, Your Army, Your Role.” The Class of 2017, he says, will graduate into a more “complex,” terrifying world than any class before them. They will fight, defend, attack, fall and continue. They will become leaders of men and women — leaders who “care.” As I sit next to Eric, listening to this speech given by an officer holding the highest rank in the United States Army, I can’t help but marvel at how differently we will live our lives post-commencement. For all of us, graduation is a rite of passage. But for West Point, it seems to an outsider to be something much more poignant. At one point on Saturday, Eric said, “It’s not about whether or not I’ll take a bullet for my friends. Of course I will. That’s a given. It’s something more — something greater than, ‘I have your back’ during wartime and peacetime. It’s a bond that runs far deeper than anything I could have ever hoped to find outside of West Point.”
8// MIRROR
Reliving Dartmouth past GUEST
By Morgan Sandhu
During First-Year Trips, like most Dartmouth students, I wrote myself a letter. Unlike many of my peers, I wrote this letter quite seriously, pouring my soul out to my future self who would receive it six months from then. The letter is imbued with a sense of excitement and fear and hope; I was about to begin becoming my Dartmouth self, not my high school self. As I watched my trip leaders, I was so sure that by senior year, I would be as confident as they were, as settled in the community. During senior year, I led a trip and once again wrote myself a letter. The contrast between the letters is stark — much more than I expected it to be. As I wrote, I felt no more certain of where I stood. I was still searching for something, and stumbled over the idea that I was now qualified to lead ’20s into the woods and make them promises about their Dartmouth experience. Yet in both letters, there is a sense of yearning, of promises not yet filled. Each year at Dartmouth, I have been chasing something — forever looking forward to the idea of what should be and chasing that myth. Freshman year, it was the idea of Dartmouth and a hope for comfort in the discomfort of change. Sophomore year, I chased the example of new upperclassmen friends, the sense of truly belonging to the community at large and the promise of Dartmouth for those who finally “knew what they were doing.” Junior year it was the notion of adventure, a break from Dartmouth, the discovery of off terms and new places. Now senior year, the reveal of Dartmouth is largely done and I have doubled back, beginning to chase myself and the past. It has been a year of seeking out the moments that were never realized and reaching for the moments that were so good I long to relive them over and over. While the reliving often centers on the iconic moments of Dartmouth, these moments often pale compared to the ones that no one promised me during Dimensions, that Trips never sang about, that don’t merit mention on campus tours. My cravings are focused on the late nights with friends when I should have handed my paper in five hours ago, the blissful solitude of sitting in Sanborn watching it snow with a good book and a cup of tea, the joy of finally escaping campus for dinner and singing the whole drive there and leaving the library late at night to walk the golf course under the stars. These moments feel so mundane, part of the everyday, yet these are the moments I won’t forget. It is hard to recognize them as potential “lasts” and thus accept them as something that may never happen again. Yet, senior year has forced this realization. The harder I have tried to replicate these moments, the more I have realized how liminal they are, tied to the joys of a unique term and time. It is strange to live a year of lasts that you recognize, to love a place so much yet on some level be ready to leave. We as a class are in limbo. We run after the memories of Dartmouth past, fill in the gaps of what we feel Dartmouth should have been and was not, try to recreate the moments we wish to never forget. We turn to the timeworn traditions of the “Dartmouth experience” — hiking Mt. Cardigan, the polar bear swim, Ledyard challenging, the tradition of big weekends — to try and freeze Dartmouth, to distill it to its essence. Yet, we will fail. We will never be able to fully capture this place. As I travel down my bucket list — attempting to replicate the sober 15X Tuesday night Ledyard challenge in the pouring rain or trying to give a sophomore the joy of the 4 a.m. conversation a senior had with me when I was a sophomore — the truth keeps creeping in. It is not the specific experience that matters; we cannot replicate the moments we wish to relive through formula or replicating tradition. Gather the same group of friends together on the dock senior week to skinny dip with that you skinny dipped with freshman year and everything else will be different. Four years here has marked us, forced us to grow up, built friendships up and torn them down. Even if the bodies and the setting and the timing are the same, we are not. So instead of a time to relive the glories of experiences past, senior year has become a time of recognition and reckoning; it is not the experiences that matter so much as the emotions they generated. And these emotions, this sense of community and love, can be replicated. While a memory will always be irrevocable, and our experiences will no longer be tied to Dartmouth, the sentiment experienced in these moments can be replicated, triggered by a new experience. To move forward, we must let the lasts of Dartmouth fade into the firsts of a new frontier. In this, perhaps goodbye becomes even just a bit easier.
MICHAELA LEDOUX/THE DARTMOUTH SENIOR STAFF