I sat down to write this column and I didn't really know where to start. I frankly don't know if anyone reads a word I write, but in the end it doesn't really matter, I suppose, because this double-handful of inches I get every two weeks is like my own little clean, well-lighted place in which to pin down the pinwheel of my days. I've spun fast these past months, as we all have in our own particular ways, and sometimes the wildness of my speed has veered a little out of control and a little off course, but every once in a fortunate while I had the privilege of sitting down and writing about the world as I see it. Whether or not that way of seeing things is valid or worthwhile or even sane is for you to judge.
I'm listening to the song "So I'll Go South" right now, because it was the best thing I could think of with which to spark the writing fire. Thinking of coming to the University reminds me of how odd it is that any of us are here. If there's one thing that stands at the shadowed heart of our community, it's that we are associated only by split-hair-chances and glass-sharp fragments of fate.
A lot of life is like that, if you think about it. For example, I lost my wallet the other day and proceeded to frantically cancel all my credit cards and close my accounts in banking centers across the world, dragging Swiss bankers out of their sound sleep and rousing half the population of the Grand Caymans to fulfill my wild requests. The next day, to soothe my sorrows, I went to Free Cone Day at Ben & Jerry's. Naturally, though practically everyone in the store was a repeat free-cone-getter, I was selected (apparently at random) to be the scapegoat for the many repeat free-cone-getters and was banned from getting any more ice cream by a lunatic waving a scoop. This was, at best, unfortunate, and has left me permanently traumatized at the sight of what was once one of my all-time favorite billboards. I recommend caution at the legendary ice cream event next year. I found the wallet the next day, of course, though it was rendered mostly worthless since the plastic in it no longer served any purpose, and I had to spend all my cash to buy a wooden pole, leaving me absolutely destitute. Don't ask about the pole.
In any case, I've met a lot of people this year, people I never expected to meet, people whose brilliant personalities draw me to them like a helpless moth to a flame. Yes, if you are my friend, I do think of you as a primitive and deadly compulsion. Deal with it. The University, as I've written almost exclusively now for months, is the most wonderful thing I think I've ever experienced. When I think of all those nights I spent obsessing over college, I wish I could make my younger self experience just one second of the sunset on the Lawn or the distant mountains or the night-thunder or the smoky smell at the back of Alderman. It worked out for me, though, as it did for all of us, and for that I think we have to be thankful. Even if Free Cone Day turned out to be an evil sham. Sorry, I'm still bitter.
I am a first year. I won't be for much longer, I suppose, which is a vaguely frightening idea, but let me set aside my anxiety about that for a moment. This year has been a delight. Not a constant delight, of course, as I spent half of the first semester desperately convinced that I had made an irretrievably disastrous college choice, before that day I abruptly began my passionate affair with Mr. Jefferson and his University. But on the whole, I wouldn't trade this dazzling set of worlds that we have here for anything else.
I did come South, see, though I never expected to come South, and though I found the whole idea almost laughably strange, I came South, and I found the place I'd always thought I'd find but had never found before. Sure, I found sunsets and sunrises, strong winds and the impossible wonder of the Lawn. More importantly, though, I found the people.
Gents, you know who you are, and I can't tell you what it's been to come to know you and spend a week sleeping in your immediate vicinity. To the other men and women of my life: eye has not seen and ear has not heard how awesome you are. Whether at weekly lunches in Newcomb or early in the morning on a walk to class or late in the wildness of the night, you've made every day better. To my professors: thanks for making the world spin. To the un-celebrities, from Barefoot Man to Boombox Guy: you are a delight. Particularly, to the former UJC Exec: it was a hell of a ride. And as for the rest of you, my friends, thanks for reading. Let me say in valediction as we pour out of Charlottesville for our long, hot summer, that it has been a pleasure and an honor.
Connor's column runs bi-weekly on Fridays. He can be reached at sullivan@cavalierdaily.com.
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