And That Has Made All the Difference

I always colored within the lines. With the possible exception of a neon yellow turtleneck I once wore on Halloween, my clothing would never catch your eye. My hairstyle and my taste in music are about as bland as your average oatmeal. And yet, by Harvard standards, I have become a rebel.

I am now officially taking next year off. As I start next year in a new room across the ocean rather than across the courtyard, I will be breaking from the expected, from what my parents thought I would do, from what I could have imagined a year ago. It feels great.

At one level, the decision was easier than you might think. I originally wanted to study abroad and I joined the tens of people in the Office of Career Services Study Abroad meetings (in comparison with the literally thousands of juniors at other schools spending time abroad and getting credit). Yet soon I felt a semester would not be enough, given Harvard's strict curricular requirements abroad. And so, approved program and all, I am starting down a different road.

When I first wondered aloud about going away, I found an amazing number of friends in my Phillips Brooks House Association service group, over dinner and in my classes who had taken time off and raved about their experiences. It seems Harvard requirements and Harvard stress may send more people to time off here than elsewhere, and it seems a healthy cycle. The people spoke of the perspective the world beyond the gates can give, and the sense of purpose it can rekindle. I am jealous of the gleam in their eyes as they talk about their time away.

The formal word for taking time off at Harvard is "withdraw," and for good reason: I leave not only Harvard but my group of friends, my roommates and blockmates, my House and newspaper. This June I say good-bye not only to the seniors but to the juniors as well, and will return to a Harvard where half the students will be new to me.

By leaving I am extricating myself from the web of jokes and dinner dates, parties and rituals for a year. If this year is any measure of how things will change, for the better and the worse, only diligent Crimson reading will prevent me from completely losing touch with the campus. Some things are inevitable: I will miss the first year of Lowell's excellent new Masters, and will return to roommates weighing med school applications and theses as I start to pick a junior tutorial leader. Who knows if they will even want to room with me?

In the fall I will shop for apartments rather than classes, and have the chance to live in another culture and in a grown-up world: to cook and to pay rent, to study, to watch television, to take weekend trips to Egypt or Italy. These common aspects of college elsewhere (minus the Italy thing) will be quite a shock. An apartment. That probably means furniture. Then again, I may fail at groceries and whimper back here for the spring.

Given the complexities, going away provides a mixed feeling of fear and excitement, a nervousness more unpredictable than explainable, and my eyes are open. My plans have already given my new insight to the quirky Harvard existence.

First, I am realizing there is real community at Harvard. It may sound strange, but I am learning that when people ask about your paper or your summer plans, they mean it. My friends stop me in libraries and in dining halls and ask hopefully about my plans, even when the minor obsession of going abroad has escaped my mind. Perhaps you can't point to the community in any one place. But people do ask about you, care where you are and what you are doing.

An equally important lesson, though, is the ultimate narrowness of the Harvard experience I have seen. When I return, I look forward to being a round peg in a college of square holes. Despite the diversity of backgrounds and experiences that have led us to Harvard, once here, our undergraduate experiences are remarkably conformist. This may be part of the College's mission, yet the lack of acknowledgment among students of this normalization strikes me now as I leave it for a year. Look around. People gather to watch the same shows and recommend the same Cores to one another. The mail centers overflow with piles of the same catalogs. Doesn't anyone find this problematic?

Conformity is not necessarily a bad thing, but it seems to limit the range of acceptable options. When you decide your options by glancing casually at what those around you are doing, you are not likely to break out with something new, something full of your soul that draws others to you. It takes courage, but this is college, right? If you do not pursue your dreams now, who says you will remember them when you have time? Who says you will ever have time?

So I am going away. What does this mean to you? I am not asking that every student drop their commitments and run off to explore the world, though I am sure you would enjoy the experience if you did. What I am saying is that you should look at the four walls that surround you, both literally and figuratively. Think about how little you take advantage of Boston's public gardens and sports arenas, museums and parks. Think about the Harvard resources you have never stopped to explore, the libraries and exhibits you have never visited, the professors you have never had the courage to ask a question. Think about the easy ways, every day, you can break out of the doldrums and get more from college.

It is hard to escape the cliches and the trite pieces of advice and say something in a way that will grab you, sitting there thinking about that final paper. It is hard to be concrete because such an awakening is very personal, and from this vantage point I can only vaguely make it out myself, there in the yellow wood. With courage, luck, and a year away, the stark realities will confront me at every turn, and I will learn from their challenges.

Adam I. Arenson '00-'01 is a history and literature concentrator in Lowell House. He will spend next year in Jerusalem, and promises to write.