I would have opened this column with a reference to the song the university has selected to haunt you with for the next four years, but as I don’t know what it is and am too lazy to find out (I am on vacation, after all), I will treat you to the wise words of Mr. Lindsey Buckingham, who apparently speaks for my generation: “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow / Don’t stop-it’ll soon be here.”
So, you’ve decided to come to Fairfield University. As C. Montgomery Burns would say, “Excellent.” I remember my orientation clearly. Well, that’s not entirely true; I remember how I felt during my orientation. Many of my friends will likely tell you that I am a worrier or neurotic, despite the fact that I have loosened up considerably in the past three years.
That fateful weekend in June, however, I was a bundle of nerves, scarred from the social battleground of high school and second-guessing the choices I had made for my future, namely, had I really chosen the school that was for me?
By the end of the weekend, I was eagerly anticipating move-in day. Obviously something happened between the two journeys through the Barlow Road gates, and in the interest of brevity, I will simply say that my perspective was altered and my expectations re-evaluated.
I believe the defining moment of the weekend was in the evening, when several members of my FYE group and I decided to walk back to the quad together, and while discussing our hopes for the upcoming academic year, I mentioned that I was hoping to become best friends with my unknown roommate. Allyson, one of the people in our group, said, “You can’t expect that. The main thing is just trying to live with another person.” As silly as it may sound now, I had never previously entertained the thought that I didn’t have to be best friends with my roommate; after all, I was being assigned a random person, not a kindred spirit.
This isn’t to say that some people don’t develop a strong bond with their freshman roommate, but those who do tend to be an exception rather than the rule. My frosh roomie and I lasted all of one semester together; I won’t comment further, for to do so would be petty and immature. All I will say is that I am not that hard to live with. The moral of the story? Keep a wide perspective on not just your roommate, but on Fairfield U. as a whole. “Growing up” isn’t about maxing out your parents’ credit cards and drinking a pitcher because you can; it’s about learning to roll with the punches and not dwell on the bruises they leave for too long.
A final word of advice: under no circumstances should you ever eat the eggplant parmigiana in Barone. Just trust me on this. Oh, and Class of 2007-Welcome to Fairfield.
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