In an old shoebox in my closet at home lies a picture of my dad and me racing down the beach. I have no idea where we were running or what we were running from, but I do know that it looks like we are having the time of our lives.
That old shoebox is home to hundreds of pictures, but whenever I open it to take a trip down memory lane, the photograph of me and my dad catches my eye a few seconds longer than the others. It does not spark any specific memory, for I have absolutely no idea when my mom captured this moment of father-daughter bonding on film.
Instead, it makes me think.
As children, we Duke students did not care where the end of a race with dad would lead us or how far we would have to walk to get back to where we started-let alone the number of calories we were burning. We merely knew that we were chasing dad wherever he led us.
Most college students have long escaped the time in our lives when our parents directed our every move. We are no longer chasing dad; he is chasing us.
Because in coming to college, we reach a huge turning point-we start a new race, independently of dad.
We live on our own; we select for ourselves each activity and class we want to be a part of (unless you are one of those unlucky pre-meds or engineers who has a handful credits to play with); and we encounter types of people who would have never crossed our paths at home.
In short, we are given a great opportunity to figure out who we are.
I think many of us come to college with a set of expectations and ambitions. I, for one, am petrified of change, and given this fact, I would say that the goals I set for myself upon arriving at Duke freshman year lasted for almost an entire semester. Since then, however, I have tried new things-both good and bad-and each new experience has framed the way I understand the world in one way or another.
Looking at pictures of my roommate and me taken on our first night at Duke, I notice more than just how, since then, our hair lengths have changed and our facial features have matured. I also see two girls who have really grown up-developed our unique personalities and viewpoints.
Unbeknownst to us, researchers at Dartmouth College were investigating the very concept of the changes that the brain undergoes in a student's first year of college as my roommate and I were living it. Through MRIs and questionnaires, the psychologists discovered that the brain of an eighteen-year-old college freshman is markedly different than the brain of a 22-year-old college senior. Abigail Baird, an assistant professor of psychological and brain science, explains in a Dartmouth news release, "During the first year of college, especially at a residential college, students have many new experiences. They are faced with new cognitive, social and emotional challenges."
The changes in brain structure that result throughout the time we will spend here at Duke are of significant note because they are mostly under our control. We choose almost every situation in which we place ourselves in this Gothic Wonderland. When trying to make heads or tails of what this means to the average Duke student, my freshman roommate offered the following analysis: "You don't want to be afraid to try new things in college, but you also don't want to forget who you are and where you came from."
Put a bit more eloquently, in the words of Anais Nin: "The time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
College is the time to grow out of the restrictive buds of our childhoods. We are, in a sense, just like I was when my dad and I raced barefoot across the sand. We have a lifetime of memories behind us and a lifetime of memories ahead of us. We now have the challenge to climb out of our comfort zones, allow new things to happen and make every moment count-because one day we will wake up, and it will be the last day of the four years of the race we call Duke.
Sarah Hostetter is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Thursday.
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