How we wish Duke went

President Brodhead and I have had our disagreements­—all of which are in my head, since he has no idea I exist—but the most relevant of our imaginary feuds was his claim on my admissions letter that Duke University is now my university. Okay, maybe Dean Guttentag wrote it, but I bet Brodhead was the mastermind. Two DukeEngage rejections later, I realized what Brodhead really meant. He was probably thinking something along the lines of having access to excellent academics, research opportunities, brilliant students and faculty, domestic and abroad service programs, career advising, great facilities, diverse social organizations and a beautiful campus. Somehow, he thought just having the opportunity to take advantage of these resources was enough. But I took it to mean he was tossing me the keys to the Chapel. Let me tell you what I had in mind.

First day on East Campus. I roll in a little nervous—I mean, I’m awesome, but I’m not Superman. Decked out in the red pastel shorts guaranteed to win me friends, I shake hands with the roommate. But it’s as if I’m shaking hands with my reflection. We have all the same interests. We eat the same foods. We laugh at each other’s jokes. We fall asleep at the exact same time every night—when one of us has to stay up all night studying, so does the other one! We even skip to all our classes holding hands—don’t worry, we play it cool when other people pass. Of course, my roommate has to compete for my affection. By the end of O-week, I’m sitting in the common room and my 136 new friends come in, chanting my name. They shouldn’t have!

I major in Quantum Bio-Mechanical Engineering and I try to average six classes a semester. On the fence about pre-med. I get an A in every class except for an A- in one, but that is firmly out of principle. I don’t want that mediocre professor to have the satisfaction of giving me an A. On the occasion I go to class, my brain sucks up the information for me, while I stare out the window. When I get home, my friends and I bang out our homework in an hour and have the rest of the night to hang out—don’t hate us ‘cuz you ain’t us.

I try out for five selective clubs and get into all of them. You might think it would get difficult balancing mock trial, a capella, improv and consulting club while maintaining my position as editor-in-chief of the Chronicle, but I make it work. I also get a paid research position with Nobel Prize winner, Robert Lefkowitz, in order to financially support my exciting social life. I apply to one DukeEngage program and receive offers from three. What can I say? I write a mean application.

Fast forward to rush 2014, round one. The smell of crispy bacon and the sizzle of eggs wake me from my refreshing slumber. The roomie brought me breakfast in bed again! After a meditative yawn, I jump out of bed to begin a not-in-the-least-bit-tiring day of meeting fraternity brothers. What’s this? I find a white envelope shoved under the door. I open it to find 17 bid offers stuffed inside. Not too shabby for round 1!

Needless to say, things have gone a little different than expected since I stepped on to campus one and a half years ago, although there’s still two years left for that breakfast in bed—looking at you, roommate. As freshmen hear from greek organizations and SLGs, and upperclassmen hear from internships and jobs, the dreaded stench of rejection hangs over us. It’s always been there, but many of us learn for the first time at Duke, it’s real. That doesn’t change that Duke University is our university. We’re privileged enough just to have access to so many opportunities— DukeEngage, research, you name it. But perhaps an even greater opportunity is the opportunity to fail in a safe environment. Years from now, you’ll look back and realize that, even if it didn’t go how you planned, the way Duke actually went was exactly what you needed.

We all agree that Duke's campus is the most beautiful campus in the world. My rival, Brodhead, shafted us by throwing it under construction during our few, precious years here. Classic Brodhead. The other day, I was walking by the Chapel—still waiting on that key—and noticed the obnoxious crane thwarting my picture-perfect view. I had a momentary lapse of anger for all the inconveniences brought on by this construction project. But after three semesters of having my ego slapped around, I changed my mind. A little construction never hurt anyone.

Kyle Harvey is a Trinity sophomore and the Editorial Pages Managing Editor. This is his first column of the semester.