The whole wide world

Catching up with my grandmother over winter break, I shared some of my highlights at Duke. I rattled off my favorite aspects of collegiate life and mentioned having had the privilege of meeting people from all over the world both while on campus and far from it. The diversity of their perspectives, though not directly a part of my formal Duke education, is an unanticipated benefit that has meant as much to me as any classroom learning did. While listening to me sharing these things, my grandma interrupted—“My goodness, Elissa, your world is so much larger than I knew could be possible at 21.”

In some ways she was right—and it’s true for all of us. When I decided to attend Duke in the first place, it was in part because a high school teacher had warned me that if I didn’t force myself to leave my comfort zone, I could get stuck in my insular Connecticut bubble. It set off a chain reaction in the form of a kind of experiential inertia: an object—or wide-eyed freshman—in motion remains in motion, while an object at rest remains at rest—camera pans to me over Christmas break, elbows-deep in popcorn, Netflix and Trivia Crack.

So I came to Duke hesitant and was practically handed experiences in rapid-fire succession that pushed beyond my insulated bubble. It’s so painfully college of me to say this, but peers and adventures outside the classroom taught me more than any professor could have.

Debates early on with more Southern members of my freshman floor showed me that coming from a sheltered and politically correct Northeastern upbringing did not make me right‚ just smug. My first introverted friend taught me that I could be happy alone. Friends from other countries called out subtle but significant ways that I let assumptions about their cultures color my interactions with them. DukeEngage, study abroad, a summer spent working in the Middle East—not to mention incredibly meaningful time spent in Durham—introduced me to people scattered all around the planet, who continue to inspire me to strive to live with the same compassion and understanding they exuded.

In my last semester of college, I find myself feeling simultaneously unstoppable and infinitesimally small.

So at a time of year when a palpable tension can be felt on campus as many of us try to climb into boxes with labels that may or may not fit us, I find myself nervous.

I’m overly conscious of the prevalence of the feeling that in order to fit in at Duke, people must find the other individuals who look act, and carry themselves the same way and pull as small a box around themselves as possible. I’m uneasy about the exclusivity that permeates this campus but works as a powerfully limiting tool against the stuff that pushes and challenges us.

And I’m nervous as we start to face graduation for the inevitable grind that will come with full-time employment. This year, I moved off campus—perhaps the tightest box pulled around myself, since with the exception of parties, my social interaction is now comprised of deliberate, punctuated interactions with the people I get along with and know best. But a social life with that level of intentionality has been challenging—I miss the spontaneous encounters and introductions that result from wandering on campus, the hodgepodge of people I’d meet in early 100-level classes, the randomness of all of it.