Forget-Me-Nots

I boycotted the Senior Kickoff at the Kong. Mine was a silent protest against the perverse notion of celebrating a countdown to the scariest day of all time. But that was back in the triple digits, 102 days to be exact, when I was still dating my thesis and smooching my neighbor on the sly. It’s a whole different ballgame when you’re in the thirties and you actually have to start planning for a life of posts: post-graduation, post.harvard.edu, postpartum depression, post office, Post cereal—and the list goes on. Some seniors are taking this whole transition thing in stride. They are genuinely excited for futures filled with jobs, rent payments, car payments, kitchenettes and blind dates. These seniors are what I like to call masochistic freaks. Sure, there are some things about college life that I’d gladly give up, Boston weather and cinderblock décor being #1 and #2, but beyond that, Harvard has done me pretty well.

My approaching transition from college to real life is obviously similar to the transition I made just four years ago from high school to Harvard. Both demand relocation (the first from New York to Boston and the second from Boston back to New York) and add responsibilities. But there are two important distinctions between the transitions.

First, there are people here at Harvard whom I am truly going to miss. This is not to take anything away from my friends from home. They are wonderful and I love them to pieces. In four years, however, I have never really missed them. To miss someone is to feel his or her complete and utter absence from your life. Between cell phone calls, Christmas and summer breaks, my friends from home have been a constant presence.

Using equivalent logic, I am not going to miss my closest friends from Harvard. Of course, there will be the expected life changes that will send friends off to distant shores or distant men, but I am confident that my closest friends will forever hold important parts in my life: vacation buddy, psychologist, bridesmaid, godparent, shopping partner, etc.

It is all the other people at Harvard for whom my heart already aches—the people who have waltzed in and out of my life but somehow managed to change me in some critical way. These are folks who have left a lasting impression but whom I have never thanked, probably because there was never an appropriate moment and most likely because it would make for a pretty awkward conversation. Well, the power of the pen can make you do crazy things, especially if FM is involved. So, here are a few of my Harvard angels.

W. Ben Crockett ’02 randomly IMed me while we were high school seniors, as he saw Harvard in my AOL profile. What started as hello blossomed into a slew of friendly e-mails and phone calls. More than anything or anyone else, chatting with Mr. Ben convinced me to choose Crimson over blue or brown. My logic was simple: if there were others in Cambridge as warm as he was, then college would be cake. Though the Harvard-as-cake analogy needed some serious tweaking, I was right about Ben.

Booty-shaker extraordinaire Vedra D. Chandler ’02 taught me how to shake that ass at a rowdy Seneca retreat in the fall of 2000. “The Vedra” has since become the most requested part of my dance/freak repertoire and has finally put my big butt to better use.

Erica B. Levy ’02 was my saving grace freshman year. There was a period around March when I was depressed and very lonely, a personal rock bottom. I felt extremely uncomfortable in my own dorm room so instead, I spent a lot of time in Annenberg (and at the Grille) jumping from table to table but never finding anyone who I really clicked with. I wondered how everyone else had made “best” friends so quickly. I worried that other first-years thought I was not cool enough. I worried that other first-years did not think of me at all. Then one day I met Erica over lunch. She was so quirky and honest—magnetic, really—and she made me feel at home, like I really belonged here. Erica was the type of friend who actually listened to you when you spoke. She laughed with her whole body. Though my friendship with Erica was brief, I credit her with changing my entire perspective on this school, no small feat. It seemed magical at the time, but after meeting Erica, everything in my life started to fall into place. I realize now that it was not magic but rather the power that one person can have in changing your sense of self.

I shall not soon forget that adorable sophomore kiddie who hooked up with me at the height of my typing-all-night, kvetching-all-day thesis hysteria.

After one too many brewskies, John P. Flynn ’02 taught me how to play beirut in Quincy A-entry. Though my hand-eye coordination still leaves much to be desired, the game has been a favorite college pastime.

I once overheard my first-year roommate Katy A. Brodsky ’02 chatting with one of her Trinity buddies about Ibiza, a Spanish island known for its beautiful people and wild lifestyle. I did some research and added Ibiza to my travel itinerary for that summer’s trip with Dina, my best friend from home. Ibiza was the craziest experience of my life until the next summer when I went back again with my roommate Cat E. Lavers ’02 for a debaucherous week that has probably ruined my chances of ever winning elected office.

Joe K. McCaffrey ’02 once told me I was beautiful just the way I was. I am unsure whether I trust his assessment, however, because at the time I was sweaty, bloated and on my third Scorpion Bowl. He continued, though, to say that I should never settle for a man who did not appreciate my “confidence and fire and warmth.” He was sure that someday I would find a guy who turned my world upside-down. To hear this from someone other than my mom or roommates—and at the Kong, no less—was an unforgettable thing.

If I had a polar opposite at Harvard in terms of interests it would probably be John A. Higgins ’02. He is a lover of rocks and glaciers and trail mix. But the thing that I adore about Higgilove is his authenticity. This is a guy who has never (at least to my knowledge) pretended to be someone who he is not or put on airs of Harvard pretension. And girls, this boy can dance.

These angels lead me to the second difference between the two life transitions. After high school, many feel an overwhelming desire to reinvent themselves. Whether it is the degree of anonymity that college affords or the freedom of shedding off the labels that once defined us—valedictorian, snob, goody-goody, nerd—the ability to start with a clean slate is liberating. Freshman year is a veritable free-for-all, the time to be whoever we always wanted to be, whether socialite, jock, girlfriend or scholar.

Coming to Harvard, I definitely had somewhat of an agenda, a bizarre wish list of the types of people I wanted to befriend, the activities I wanted to do and the social scene of which I wanted to be a part. Needless to say, things did not exactly turn out as planned. The reason is that I had no real clue of who I was or what I actually wanted. I had no conception of who or what was going to make me happy. The road to any semblance of self-knowledge is bumpy and long. And by no means have I arrived at the end or even the middle of that road. But all the wonderful people I have met and experiences I have had over the past four years have taught me a helluva lot about where I want that road to lead.

I have always referred to the Harvard experience as a blender. It kind of slices you up and twirls you around, and the object of the game is to somehow put yourself back together. The woman who I have reassembled is much different than she once was. She feels no need to reinvent herself. More than anything else, my relationships at this school have made me more comfortable with myself and with the decisions I will have to make. And I owe much of this to my Harvard angels, all the people who have knowingly or unknowingly stepped into my memory.

Former FM editor Jennifer Y. Hyman ’02 is a social studies concentrator in Quincy House. J-Hy, as she is not known, has not recorded a duet with Ja Rule. Yet.