Over the summer, I was chatting with my best friend’s grandma (we call her “Bubbie”) about my mixed feelings over going off to college: leaving friends, home, deep dish pizza, etc. In response, she offered me an anecdote: “It’s just like summer camp.” Suddenly, I felt fully equipped to leave Chicago. I grew up going to summer camp; I had a good time, made great friends, and I prided myself on never being super homesick. Now, college seemed digestible, even easy. Yes, there was no Shooters or barn parties at YMCA Camp Edwards, but the first few weeks of college felt like deja vu: the activity-packed days, newfound accessibility to snacks, the plague that spreads around, and being sweaty 24/7 (ew). But now, as week 4 approaches, the honeymoon phase is starting to dissolve.
If you hadn’t heard, category 4 Hurricane Florence was making her way toward North Carolina’s coast this past week, supposedly the biggest and possibly most devastating hurricane to hit the mid-Atlantic coast. However, Duke students seemed to be in denial; it was Tuesday, and the skies are clear, the sun is out, and classes are canceled starting at 5 Wednesday. Perhaps this was wrong, but as a girl who had never experienced more than a few fallen trees after a heavy storm, Florence seemed exciting.
But this was just the calm before the storm. The thing about summer camp is that you knew you were going home; you knew in 2 weeks, you could see your dog again and sleep in a bigger bed. Here, the uncomfortable feeling of permanency is starting to settle in. Like the weather reports and ominous clouds in the distance, I can see and begin to dread the things to come: increasing academic pressures, all-nighters, a failed friendship or two, and moments where I doubt if I made the “right choice.” There’s no way to hold back the damage to come. But there are ways to cushion the blow, such as “stocking up” on things to do and ways to get involved. Distraction seems to prevent me from having moments to myself where I begin to ruminate over how I really feel. So, as we all gathered snacks and queued up a movie or two to watch this past weekend, I suggest for other first-years to follow the same idea for the next few months: prepare for the worst and hope for the best.