In Ithaca I've found a home tucked between rolling hills and plunging gorges. It's a little enclave of liberalism in the midst of an area full of crazy and intelligent people. I'm farther away from the center of things--Washington D.C.-- than I've ever been but by being here I've connected far more to the outside world than ever before. From the familiar comfort of our little basement radio newsroom I've reported on countless suicide bombings, Somali pirates, twisted Illinois politics, and Taliban insurgency in Pakistan. I walk into a room and laugh with the sports guys and chat with the DJs, and at the same time I'm entering a world far beyond Ithaca College. How cool is that?
In high school I preferred to succeed at a quieter level. I thought, you work hard, you get good grades, you build a successful profile and hopefully have some fun along the way. I've always been reserved with people I don't know well. My level of chattiness and general obnoxiousness increases in proportion to my comfort level. This school year I've chased down coaches on the sideline of a field, on the pool deck, and on the banks of an inlet. I've called website founders in different time-zones and scheduled interviews with people who have better things to do with their time. I've been published. I've learned that you have to do the grunt work before you can imagine tackling the creative, and I've started to find how I can weave my love of writing into my pursuit of a journalism degree.
I've written a lot about learning to fail. But what I'm realizing now is that a level of dissatisfaction is necessary to reach any sort of worthwhile success no matter what. Otherwise, we're passive. That's not acceptable at a school where protests are common and "WE ARE EQUAL" banners are thrown across the front of buildings in the middle of the night during exam week.
College is learning that you actually have to dress yourself to accommodate the weather outside. It's sitting cross-legged at the Boothroyd kitchen table with a mug of tea in your hands and friends surrounding you that make you laugh until tears spring from your eyes. It's outdoor adventures and crowded houses. It's learning that a deadline is a deadline. It's the blissful uncertainty of starting something new and the awesome comfort of new friends. It's a 5:30 wake up call when everyone else is sleeping till 10.
It's getting to know the janitor at Park because he unlocks the door for you at 5:45 in the morning and doesn't think you're crazy. It's the thoughts and expletives that run through your head when it's negative four degrees and pitch black outside, and you're walking across campus. But then, all of a sudden, the fountains are on again, and you're seeing friends run bases across striking green fields. It's appreciating Margaret Atwood for the first time and considering global trade in a new light. It's paper upon paper upon exam upon quiz. It's the stress and the fear and the worry.
What it comes down to is this:
It's my last night in Ithaca. The end of my freshman year. I've finished the first step in the process of shipping off. I've got a summer ahead of me with enough crazy to last me the four months or so I've got for break. But even so...
I can't wait for next year.
