Putting the “Senior” in Senior Spring

As the weather slowly shifts from a brutal winter apocalypse to the cool caressesof spring, I find myself wondering along with my fellow seniors: “Is it here? Has senior spring finally arrived?” The thought of such a wondrous prospect has sustained us for so long. It kept us moving as we typed deliriously in Lamont at three in the morningsurrounded by pretzel bags and energy drinks. It pushed us to keep going as we sat hunchedover our computers, studying for midterms before break. My personal image of senior spring haunted me all winter: By day, I sit clad inexplicably in a large white sunhat, drinking Blue Moons in the sun with a bevy of young comrades. By night, I rage.

But now that it is here—senior spring is, by all technicalities, here—I am afraid for two reasons. First, because I have hyped it up so much in my head, I worry that this spring is going to inevitably fail to reach expectations. But more importantly, frankly, I think I might not be up to it. I’ve gotten comfortably used to cozying up in bed after an early dinner. My sweatpants have become my own form of snakeskin and I’m not sure I’m quite ready to shed it.

Seniors put so much pressure on senior spring. Past seniors tell us: “It’s the best time of your life. Omg. Take me back.” I love hearing this, and I am so excited to experience my own last two months. Everyone concurs it is a truly special time. But I also have a slight suspicion that going into this spring with the expectation that it is going to be the absolute, determinate BEST thing ever might not be the smartestway to go about it. I have learned that when I go into anything with impossibly high assumptions, I am always disappointed.

I have also already noticed a tendency to label each event and moment we now attend as epically fun and memorable. We stay late at a party that we secretly hate because we feel that we can’t possibly leave—it’s senior spring and every last moment counts! I feel guilty for not going to an event that I’ve never enjoyed because it’s the very lastone and I’m going to regret it foreverif I don’t go. There’s the unspoken rule senior spring that you can never say no. But that rule ignores many exceptions. I have found that sometimes choosing bed and a snack (night cheese!) reallyisbetter than remaining at a party where I’m sweaty, tired, sore-throated and surrounded by tools. Not always. But sometimes.

It’s definitely possible that I’m just boring. Going out now just takes so much more effort for me than it used to. Drunken deep conversations half heard over the sounds of Jason DeRulo are not as fun as I remember. I can’t take a shot without suffering a near death experience. Heavy drinking at night leads to the hangover from hell in the morning (now devoid of all cure since Leo’s closed). Will I be able to handle the fantastic, decadent fun that senior spring promises? This probably sounds ridiculous—I’m twenty-three, on the edge of life! I need to suck it up! But I know I’m not alone when I say one weekend night now entails a three-day recovery.

I have some ideas for preempting these concerns. Although we are all anticipating an amazing few months, it is also important to remember that putting too much pressure and emphasis on anything is bound to spoil it. Let’s be honest when an experience is just not thatawesome. It will make the moments that are actually wonderful special, rather than ladenwith mediocrity.

We should definitely make sure to spend our next two months engaging with others, hanging out with our friends, and enjoying our time together. Senior spring is absolutely about being social. But that doesn’t mean we should be social 24/7, guilt-tripping each other for taking one night off. A girl’s gotta sleep sometimes! Alternatively, for those who feel they have become as boring as I have, staying in does not have to be a solitary activity. A bottle of wine and Netflix is better with company.

I’ve always been told that senior spring is about excess—too much fun, too little sleep. I’m sure that is going to be true.But amidthat excess, it is possible to find occasional balance. Let’s dance the night away these next two months—with abreak every now and then to survey the floor.

Isabel H. Evans ’14, a Crimson editorial writer, is an English concentrator in Adams House.