In the past week, I have survived the flu epidemic, gone through round one of add/drop, purchased a pretty set of Bic mechanical pencils from Staples and watched my team catch the Rams by the horns and rip off a Super Bowl championship for New England. I have experienced Val blues and credit card denials, as each swipe of the card renders a book suddenly too expensive to neglect. I wonder sometimes why add/drop spans over a week and yet the courses keep piling on the work so that you are inevitably behind after only the first day of classes.

Now that last week's excitement has slowly faded and I am forced to avert my eyes from omnipresent images of Britney and Clydesdale horse tributes to the WTC, I find myself unable to resume the tedious course of reading. There is something about the calm after the storm that we are currently in that saddens me, as complacency sets in after the hype of registration period. What happens when we settle in, when routine becomes our roadmap and the nuances of beginning become dulled and passé?

I start each semester resolved to attend every morning class, even on Fridays, to take copious notes in place of watching the lunch rush through the window, to go to Merrill at least once a month, to sit in the front of the red room instead of the middle back row, in the dark ... Ah, the promises of beginning.

So, first day of classes, I enter sporting a brand new pair of glasses that I will probably end up stepping or sleeping on one Saturday night, thinking that perhaps looking studious will contribute to "being" studious. In spite of all these resolutions, however, I anticipate the lost pen caps, dried-out highlighters and encrusted Wite Out that inevitably follows failed attempts at "nerdism." But maybe this cynicism is premature. I promise myself that this semester will be different, that I will avoid falling into a trap of unadventurous Amherst-bubble bliss.

So back to my initial question: what will this spring have in store? I remember reading a few plans at the beginning of the year, impressed with a detailed lists of the things he or she planned to do before graduating. I remember making a similar list with my roommates the first semester. It was a kind of oath, promises that we would pat ourselves on the back whether we got A's or D's, that we would hold each others hair back during odes to the porcelain god.

And then I remember the changes that would make my list seem obsolete and trivial. I don't have to mention the exact month or day, for both are ingrained all too well in our minds, but that course of events was more than a jolt from our bubble, more than a rude awakening telling us that our patterns of habit were but temporary safety nets. For a while, we couldn't simply be college students. I was no longer isolated in my predictable life, where the Monday through Thursday routine meant work, Friday and Saturday, party, and Sunday cramming for tests and writing papers. I was suddenly a passive spectator, sitting before CNN like my life depended on every word and every image of the Towers, the smoke and the crumbling images etched permanently in my mind.

Last fall, a part of me truly had to grow up, as I searched to find a place for both the world and Amherst, for myself and the sufferers. I had to learn how to cope and to be a therapist, to look within myself and to make order-to somehow reconcile the internal conflicts with the external traumas. Coming of age began to take on new meaning, something other than a simple initiation into the "real world." This new phase I entered was one where my values, beliefs and faith were bombarded, stunning me into an emotionless stupor. I felt so much, yet couldn't express or convey such poignant feelings.

And then it was over. We resumed our normal tendencies, give or take CNN as our Valentine tableside companion; life proceeded with few glitches or asides. I know we are reminded daily by the aftermath of Sept. 11th and there is every need to continue with the strength that is commended in our society today. But I have had to remind myself of something I wrote to a friend during that time.

"There lies a strength in existing amidst the normal when all else seems to have changed. There lies a poise in confrontation and a valor in coping. But amidst all these heroic deeds lies the most courageous of all, learning when to succumb. For although it is admirable to have stamina in spite of sorrow, bravery cannot be shown until you weep because of the emptiness, hurt because of the sadness, tear because of the rage, and shake because of the injustice. Admirable are these emotions because they are expressions of your soul. Admirable are your acts, your deeds, your faith, your hope, your willpower, knowing that in spite of it all, the most precious possession is your affirmation of self."

Although I cannot quite foresee the future of this semester, as I try to make a list of what I wish to accomplish before the end of the year, or the habits I wish to terminate, I have learned one true thing in the aftermath of last semester. I cannot predict what events may come, what setbacks or transformations I may face. What I can do is be prepared to face the challenges by being as compassionate and forgiving, as understanding and as open as possible, recognizing that we are bound as a community.

What this semester may bring, I will not try to predict. I know who I am and if it takes whirlwind events to discover that, then so be it. Hopefully, we all have learned something from last fall's events beyond what the Jeffery Amherst Bookstore holds in stock.