I believe that I’ve uttered the sentence, “When I was a freshman…” to preface the retelling of ridiculous stories no less than 10,576 times this week. No, I’m not feeling merely sentimental, waxing poetic about past times now that I am an upperclassman. Instead, I have been thrown into numerous situations where I am, once again, the freshman, just trying to navigate my way through a university, town and country that is entirely new.
I am not using my memories to demonstrate my wisdom in a condescending way, but rather as a means for comparison. After all, I have an entirely clean slate. Imagine having the opportunity to “do-over” freshman year, complete with new people and a new town, but armed with what you’ve learned over two and a half years from university.
I don’t think I’ve ever had such an opportunity, and I intend to fully take advantage of the experience.
My status as a “freshman” is fully cemented by my living arrangements. My dorm, St. Regulus Hall, was formerly a hotel that was purchased by the university in the ’50s, and it exudes the vibe of a temporary home. Unlike Boston University’s freshman dorms, which resemble prisons more than places to call home, St. Regulus Hall, or “Regs,” as it is known, is incredibly close knit. We are like a little family in a beautiful old home, with a library, game room and stately dining room. Someone can always be found in the library, plunking along on the piano or walking along the narrow corridors from room to room. We even have quasi-parents in our wardens, who live with us in the hall. Their quaint office is always open for a laugh, a cry or even just a cup of tea.
Yet, to bring it back to my reflection on freshman-like acclimation, the vast majority of the hall’s residents are first-year students. They, too, are finding their way around this great new world, and therefore are more than welcoming. Tagging along on their misadventures is a further blatant reminder of how it felt to be a freshman.
On Friday evening, I felt elderly as I stepped into a hall dance. Freshmen were dancing to blaring music under disco lights and my feet stuck to the alcohol-lacquered floor. It was nice for approximately 10 minutes and then we left. Yet, as old as I felt, I also felt quite young. I didn’t know a soul in the room and an awkwardness I hadn’t felt in a very long time slowly crept forward. It was not off-putting but rather invigorating.
Later on, as we found a more suitable age group, I used the opportunity to introduce myself to more people than I would have at BU. I don’t think I’ve gone up to an entirely new group of people whom I know absolutely nothing about, and introduced myself in at least a year and a half. Yes, it was frightening, but also refreshing.
Since I’ve been here, I’ve encountered a consistent theme of pushing myself outside of my comfort zone, armed with knowledge I’ve acquired at BU. It’s not about going crazy or being out at pubs every night. It’s more about having the courage to speak to different groups of people I usually would be intimidated to approach, or to seek out new opportunities that I wouldn’t dream of pursuing at home.
The first time around, I just wanted to experience everything I could, but standard “freshman at an American university” things. This time around, I want to experience everything I can, but I also want to be present in every situation that I can.
So far, the second time around is going astoundingly well.
