Hundreds of Duke students in the class of 2010, including myself, are finally settling into Duke after a semester abroad. Boxes are unpacked, books are purchased, classes are chosen, and Few Quad is now home. The daily Duke grind—class then Wilson then dorm then Perkins then the Loop followed by pre-game closing with Shooters—may feel a bit stale after four months of new places, new people and new languages.
After Notre Dame, Westminster Abbey, St. Peter’s and the Sagrada Familia, the Duke Chapel does not inspire as it did before. After seven story nightclubs, an endless array of bars and staying out until the Metro reopens at 6:00 a.m., a night on the town in Durham does not excite as it did once upon a time freshman year.
Abroad, we were interesting, unique. Thanks to Barack Obama, we were not even the stupid, fat American trash we might have been just a year ago. No longer ignorant, we were enlightened; no longer fat, but cuddly and sensual in a Barry White kind of way. We had it made.
Rain in Durham is not rain in Paris. The Nasher is not the Prado. The Eno is not the Arno. We became jaded overseas, and consequently, life at Duke has become quite bleak.
How then can we return to the days when life at Duke excited us? How can we recapture the times when even the self-checkout machine in the library captivated us, when a night in the dorm was enough?
The first step is realizing that life abroad was not sustainable. For one, livers simply are not that strong, and living without responsibilities for too long can wear on your soul more than the stress of school. Perhaps actually doing real work will restore a sense of purpose in our lives. Maybe Duke cannot offer the non-stop action of the abroad experience; but last semester was not real life, and unfortunately real life is not that exciting.
Step two is to attempt to see through the romanticized vision we have of our abroad experiences—to find our way through the cloud of nostalgia. Not everything was so wonderful. What about that pickpocket in Barcelona, or that rude waiter in Paris? Remember that weird European deodorant, or the revolting amorality of the Swiss? At least here we have southern hospitality, CVS and old-fashioned American boldness.
Let’s try to accept Duke on its own terms. By the time the NCAA Tournament rolls around, we will forget about Real Madrid or Arsenal, and remember why we came to Duke in the first place.
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