Each time I see the C-1 pull up to the West Campus bus stop, I lose myself in nostalgic remembrance.
There I am, one year younger with a spring in my step and a glint in my eye, ready to take Duke by storm with my boundless energy and relentless optimism. I'm like the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in the opening credits, stepping out of the cab to sit atop my throne.
But as the C-1 pulls away, I am pulled back into the bitter reality that is sophomore year. The novelty of freshman year is gone. Duke no longer dotes on us. No more FACs, no more orientation activities and no more special talks from Coach K to introduce to the basketball team. We are the forgotten middle child in the Duke family-an entire class full of Tito Jacksons and Jan Bradys, unnoticed in the shadows cast by the Michaels and Marcias.
Freshmen need their hands held because they are new and vulnerable. Juniors have companies drooling all over them and throwing internships at them left and right, and seniors are venerated as the oldest and wisest members of the Duke family.
So, where does that leave sophomores? We are too old for the kids' table but too young to sit with the grown-ups, so we lock ourselves in the bathroom and eat alone.
Like the rapper Nelly when he backed up Country Grammar by selling out and taking us to Nellyville, I am experiencing a letdown period. I had been warned of this sophomore slump before, but I cast aside the warnings. I figured they were like the legend of El Chupacabra-a story told to frighten me in order to keep me in line, to keep my life from stagnating. Unfortunately, however, I now find my very lifeblood sucked right out of me. El Chupacabra got me.
But what if there is more to it than the simple "sophomore slump?" What if I am in the middle of some kind of quarter-life existential crisis? Crap. I have only read some Beckett, a little Camus and no Nietzsche; I am grossly under-prepared.
From the little that I know, there are two schools of thought on dealing with such a crisis:
Leave society to "live deliberately," like Henry David Thoreau, in the Duke Forest.
Buy a Porsche and get myself a crazy young stripper girlfriend.
Both are solid options. The first allows me to reconnect with nature and purify my soul, allowing me to find my way again. The second method cannot do those things, but I am sure a fast car and an even faster girlfriend will make life at least a little better.
Sadly, though, I am in an anti-nature stage-a backlash of The Loop's decision not to give us free water-- so no Duke Forest for me, and I cannot financially support option two. Thus, I am left still with that whole sophomore slump/existential crisis thing on my hands.
So how do I get out of it? I do not normally like emo music, but I could vibe to it right now.
Sophomore year has proven to be a meaningless void. It is the fifth Harry Potter book, the third Godfather and the Vietnam War all rolled into one pointless jumble of oblivion. At least there is light at the end of the tunnel though; I get to look forward to the Porsche and the young stripper girlfriend 30 years from now during the next great crisis.
Jordan Rice is a Trinity sophomore. This is his final column.
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