No matter how long they’ve been away, alums still have the same look in their eyes when they return to the College on a Hill. The crunch of the autumn leaves, the sight of the snowcapped mountains, or the smell of the blooming spring all break the dam of time and unleash the flood of memories. It makes no difference how long a stretch of time has passed and how much in that person’s life has changed: The rush of memories brings them back, merging past and present.
As you can probably tell, this won’t be a sports column. Like my fellow seniors, who are going about it in one way or another, we’re all trying to leave with a flourish — you never want to fade away into obscurity (and, for most of us, we don’t want Amherst to fade into obscurity.) So I suppose this is my flourish, my attempt to have my say about a topic more important and closer to home than any playoff series or draft pick.
Jay-Z said, “In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets.” He’s not just a businessman; he’s also a wise man. It’s damn near impossible to go through an experience without having some regrets, but those regrets, those haunting moments from the past, will either weigh on our futures until they crumble or guide our upcoming decisions and give us the best chance for success, whatever that may be.
We all heard it on our tours or information sessions: that Amherst will teach us how to think critically, and after four years, I can say that I wholeheartedly agree. It’s funny though, I can’t pinpoint a moment where a professor’s words, the print in a book or a pre-paper brainstorm helped me discover how to “think critically.” Little lessons learned late at night in my room, mesmerized by a blank screen’s blinking cursor, or in the classroom, or in Frost, or late at night in my room all worked together to help improve my critical thinking.
In the same way, there is not one single memory or one single friendship or one single course or professor that will spur that same glazed, dazed and happily amazed look in my eye when Amherst eventually lures me back. It’s a bunch of the little things. I think that’s what actually causes that look — alums have such an overwhelming rush of indistinguishable memories that they can’t help but stare into space for a moment and let their recollections sort themselves out. I can only hope that everyone leaves this place with the same kaleidoscope of great memories that will overwhelm me the next time I roll in on Route 9.
Of course, nothing in life is perfect. Amherst shouldn’t be any different. We’ve all had complaints — from the common gripes about food and dorm damage to the smaller-scope protests about unfair professors or coaches. For the most part, the grievances are justified, but they shouldn’t, and likely won’t, overshadow all the good times. If anything, the negatives made the positives even better. I’ve never appreciated a home-cooked meal or a fresh, crisp salad any more than I do now. My freshman year, I was accused of cheating, and the process of proving my innocence made me a stronger person better prepared to handle the unfair hands that life often deals us. The highs wouldn’t be the same without the lows, and the lows that we’re bound to traverse in our four years here are just as much, if not more of our education than any course.
The first thing I noticed about Amherst kids, which I know is an absurd generalization because it’s hard to pigeonhole such a unique and diverse group of students, was that they were overly critical. My first time bussing a tray at Val was spent behind two fellow first-years trying to out-complain and out-critique each other about the recent orientation speaker. Thinking critically and being critical are two very different animals, but to many of us they’re the same. I’m as guilty of this as anyone — belittling something or someone else to give yourself a boost — and at a place chock full of so much brilliance, admitting that you like something is equivalent to shooting yourself in the foot.
That’s why it’s almost hard for me to write this, that admitting how wonderful the past four years have been and reflecting on how much they’ve changed me for the better is akin to a sign of weakness.
Two weeks ago, several of the senior speaker nominees reflected on the Amherst bubble, and how it inevitably bursts. A bursting bubble sprays and disperses soapy water to the surrounding area, and eventually the Amherst pop will send us off elsewhere, armed with the lessons learned inside the orb. The special nature of the Amherst bubble ensures that we won’t evaporate on a chalk-drawn sidewalk, but that we will thrive on our own. The bubble also boomerangs us, guaranteeing that in either body or spirit we’ll return back to Amherst at some later point.
Whether taking joy from a win over Williams, impressing your colleagues with some obscure fact picked up in class (or doing so indirectly by bragging about Jeopardy! champ Ben Bishop), or reminiscing about that party in Hitchcock (first-years, you’ll learn what that is), Amherst will stay with us long after most of us leave the Valley.
Thank you to everyone I’ve crossed paths with here. You’ll all contribute in composing the indescribable rush of memories that I’ve seen in the eyes of others and that I’ll soon see for myself.