The journey to Isla Vista was shorter than I thought it would be. My friends and I, a group of four, walked in pairs on the sidewalk to the community of IV, the streetlights illuminating the way. Cars whizzed past us on the street. The wind made our hair dance and sent goosebumps down my arms. As we neared the four major neighborhoods—Del Playa, Sabado Tarde, Trigo, and Pasado Road—we saw swarms of people, like us, in search of a party.
UCSB has a reputation for being a party school. In fact, some people would say UCSB is the #1 party school in California. I’m not a partier; it’s a label I have made peace with, a label I am not ashamed of. However, that night I figured I’d try going out with my friends. After all, I’m in college now—things could change. My night out did not change my self-proclaimed non-partier label, but it gave me insight into my new home and the people I’d be surrounded by for the next couple of years.
I mentioned earlier the swarms of people. They walked in huge packs for safety reasons, but the funny thing is, they walked exclusively in the middle of the road, with no regard for the bikers and drivers trying to get home. They were boisterous and eager to find a house that was throwing a party, so much so that you could feel the anticipation radiating from their bodies.
My friends and I found ourselves at a band show—an integral part of UCSB’s culture—in someone’s front yard. People stayed close to their friends; mingling rarely occurred. It seemed people would rather stand alone in different sections of the front yard, staring at each other, than approach their fellow classmates and actually talk to them. Maybe a socially awkward disposition is the norm for every generation of college students. Hopefully, we grow out of it.
Before the band officially started playing, a stranger in the crowd gave my friends and me an opera performance. He claimed he was a trained opera singer, so we told him to prove it. I don’t have heaps of musical knowledge, nor is opera a genre I gravitate towards, so I’m not sure if he was “doing it right,” but it sounded good. During his two-minute performance, I sneaked glances at my friends. We all made faces at each other that said, “Is this really happening right now?” It was an unforgettable experience, only because we decided to bite the bullet and interact with others.
The band started to play. The rapid strumming of electric guitars and thrashing drums poured out of the amps scattered across the wooden platform where the band stood. Girls were dancing with their friends, shouting the songs in each other’s faces, spinning each other around, jumping up and down. The boys were bobbing their heads to the beat, refusing to look at anyone else but the band. You would think, by the way the boys were acting, they were forced to come.
The night was not completely horrible. I found I really enjoy the music some of these bands create. I admire their passion and how their passion seeps into their performance. However, the biggest lesson I learned that night was this: our awareness of other people’s perception of us is detrimental to our college experience—and to the rest of our lives—if we allow our brains to think too much about it. We’d all have a better time if we stopped worrying so much, got out of our heads, and stepped into the moment.