Change is intimidating, and I don’t know if I am excited for my second year.
Signing up is harmless. It’s probably most exciting when you get the confirmation email that you’ve just committed to run 26.2 miles.
The desire to be a part of something special and important is something recognizable in most of the students here at the University, myself included.
I feel compelled to spill out everything I’ve ever wanted to say in this column, seeing as it’s my very last one.
1. Get the last ticket at Bodo’s: Getting the first ticket at this carbohydrate-obsessed institution is a feat in and of itself.
I went to three different schools for elementary, middle and high school and each required that I adapt to a slightly different learning system.
What am I doing here? No really, I mean it. What am I doing here, in this chair, in the McGregor Room, in Alderman Library, at the University of Virginia, on this Tuesday evening in Charlottesville?
I scoffed at advice from wiser friends who instructed me to rest, take it easy, or at the very least to spend more time stretching.
The Americans won 3-0, and my friends and I had a wonderful — if brief — visit to our nation’s birthplace, complete with Philly cheesesteaks in front of Independence Hall.
As a kid I loved playing the Game of Life. I could get a cool job, earn a lot of money, live in a nice house, get married and have kids all with the spin of wheel.
On any given day, you can find me in my bedroom, living room, Nau hall, Newcomb, the AFC, Alderman, the Corner’s restaurants and Clem.
This semester, as a part of a project for one of my classes, I have been reading and transcribing letters my Grandparents wrote to each other during World War II.
“Say what you mean, and mean what you say,” is the overused and cliché way to explain this. “Be deliberate,” at least in my mind, has a more attractive ring to it.
I’m becoming increasingly convinced I may be one of the few remaining non-Fitbit owners left as I walk around on Grounds and see the recognizable bands on nearly everyone’s wrists.
“Tonight, let’s go to Clem.” “Ew, why? Let’s go to Alderman.” This conversation comes up often when my friends and I decide on a place to study.
This past semester, I have heard dozens of professors tell tales of numerous major changes and multiple gap years before deciding to get into research or pursuing advanced degrees.
Something bizarre happened to me the other day: I received personalized career advice from not one, but two of my instructors.
While the feeling of being alone in a crowd seems cliché, there are times when it is very much a reality.
My morning crankiness left me hoping with every fiber of my being that this man wouldn’t turn around to address me.
It may have started as a joke, but there was nothing funny about President Teresa Sullivan walking through the door of our apartment.
