When you spend nearly all of your time in a community where you’re constantly surrounded by people overwhelmingly in the 18-22 age range, the term “senior” can easily feel more like “senior citizen.”
Before I came to Carleton, Minnesota did not exist. Growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was only peripherally aware of the vast expanse of continent between the two US coasts.
If there is one thing I’ve learned at Carleton, one defining characteristic that has changed me in my four years here, it is that I’ve learned what it means to be humble.
I couldn’t fall asleep last weekend after staying up for the meteor shower and so I’ve walked over to the Bald Spot to watch campus wake up as I started writing out one last submission.
Champion Different Animals has earned the coveted spring concert slot. Formed in Spring 2013, they first performed at last year’s Farmstock, and played there again this year.
Come now, dear readers, did you really think I would be content with feeding you Chinese buffets, tacos from a stand no bigger than your dorm room, and steaks that cost less than the antacids which you will be forced to purchase immediately following your meal? This column wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t give you a picture of some fancier options as well.
I like to quote the statistic on Carleton’s website that three quarters of incoming freshman say the primary goal of their education is to develop “a meaningful philosophy of life” because we invariably spend most of our time here absorbed in other endeavors.
When I graduated elementary school, my class compiled a “yearbook.” Beside each of our class photos, we had to write what we wanted to be when we grew up. My best friend Laura, who had shiny brown hair and a large nose she would grow into by high school, wanted to live in Montana and rehabilitate wolves.
There is a boulder on the south side of Lyman Lakes with a plaque that asks, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” The words are from Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, who wanders through the woods, observing the grace of egrets and the wild brutality of snakes shedding skin, and then compresses the images into her lyrical, evocative lines.
In the fall of 2009, I applied to 11 colleges. In addition to my Common Application essay, which, as it so happens, was about a mound of trash, I completed an endless pile of supplemental materials, describing why each school would benefit from my enrollment, explaining “What I Want To Do With My Life.”
As I’m writing this article, I’m a little afraid. I’ve always been sure of my beliefs, but I don’t want them to be misconstrued. However, the topic I will be discussing in this article is something I feel very strongly about, and I feel as if I lend a unique voice to this topic.
Discussions of privilege have been popping up all over my Facebook home page lately. The most recent trigger is the op-ed a Princeton student posted on The Princeton Tory website about his frustration of being asked to “check his privilege.”