Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Cavalier Daily's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
10 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
(05/05/22 1:43am)
About a month ago, I surprised my Grandma and Grandpa — Grammy and Grandaddy — in Medford, Oregon for Grammy’s 89th birthday. Since the beginning of the pandemic, I have not been able to see my extended family — family that I had typically seen at least four times a year. This experience of distance and longing has not been easy for anyone, but I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I was finally able to sneak out of Charlottesville and spend this precious time with my family. Although it pains me to think this way, I know that these moments are ones to cherish, and, now more than ever, that time is truly, and beautifully, of the essence.
(04/07/22 9:52pm)
Months after first opening this paperback full of powerful prose, I am still immersed in Joan Didion’s “Slouching Towards Bethlehem.” My younger self was ashamed to move through books slowly — I remember once pretending to have quickly finished reading all of Marlee Matlin’s books in second grade, as I viewed this as a way to garner recognition for having done something impressive. At the time, I am sure that reading at a given speed did merit praise, but this idea has become increasingly inapplicable in my young adult life. Although I try to devote time to finishing the books that I start, primarily to avoid the impending shame of an unfinished book sat tauntingly on my bedside table, there are myriad instances in which time must be afforded for a book’s completion. In the case of Joan Didion’s work, I have nurtured her words by making time to understand just how they materialize in my own perception of life.
(03/19/22 2:44pm)
In my most recent lecture for “Measure, Management and Motivate,” Prof. Gary Ballinger assigned our class Joan Didion’s 1961 essay “On Self Respect,” a piece featured in her book of essays “Slouching Towards Bethlehem.” I had not anticipated my introduction to Didion’s work coming in an elective course for the Leadership minor in the McIntire School of Commerce — somehow the unexpected fashion of our meeting only heightened my intrigue in Didion. As someone who considers myself to be a self-respecting person, I was curious and eager to hear what Didion had to say about such an expansive and important concept.
(12/03/21 4:49pm)
I grew up spending the majority of my summers on Balboa Island, a man-made island spanning only 1.7 miles in Newport Beach, Calif. This small, family-friendly spot is a sanctuary for kids constantly yearning for freedoms not typically associated with their youth — biking with a group of friends to grab donuts in the morning and frozen bananas just before dark created the illusion of being “older,” of being a version of myself who was usually only a character in my imagined vision of the future. When I return to Balboa today, I don’t feel the same invincibility that I did in my youth — instead, I find myself nostalgic for the spectacularly innocent eyes through which I once viewed it.
(11/01/21 4:53pm)
Recently, I struck up a conversation with a twin brother and sister who both go to the University — I’m also a twin, but my brother Henry goes to the University of Texas at Austin. There is a unique shared experience to which only fellow twins can relate, so it became impossible not to fall rapidly into an impassioned exchange of stories. The parallels in our experiences were uncanny, and I couldn’t help but wish my brother had been there to share his side of the memories.
(10/06/21 10:42pm)
Upon arriving at the University, I immediately looked forward to the latter half of my college experience — the two years in which my learning would mostly take place in small, discussion-based classes. However, upon our unexpected switch to online learning, I felt defeated. The intimacy that my imagined future promised seemed elusive, my Zoom fatigue seemed daunting, and I did not foresee an attitude change.
(07/25/21 9:16pm)
After frantically attempting to catch an open cab — a task that has proven especially difficult as New Yorkers return to life at a pre-pandemic pace — I made intense eye contact with a driver a block away, and a non-verbal agreement was made. I hopped into the cab and let him know that, while I may not seem so zen at the moment, I was rushing to make my 6 p.m. yoga class.
(07/03/21 5:14pm)
There have been a plethora of vices I have turned to in the past year. I admit that the hours I spent watching reality TV, browsing my computer or aimlessly wandering around my neighborhood pondering ways in which I could possibly pass the time were unremarkable. I became comfortable with the notion that my social life in quarantine would largely entail watching movies with my parents — I grew to discern this as equally therapeutic and emotionally contemplating. Whether it was watching “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” in a specifically nostalgic effort to forget my pains by embracing a bellied laughter, or escaping reality in Guillermo Del Toro’s “The Shape of Water” when a craving for aesthetic and surrealist cinema hit, this understanding of film largely prompted my alternative to self-reflection during the pandemic.
(04/20/21 3:27pm)
Everyone has confronted their own specific emotional strife over the past year — the pains of COVID-19’s mental trail have been acutely tangible and equally unique. Despite experiencing the universal pains of this pandemic, I have also come to understand that it is the little things which possess the greatest power to sting us. As days, weeks and months pass by me, it is in the minutes and hours that my greatest misfortunes have been attentively felt — within these moments, feelings of despondence seem to oppress me. Upon recent reflection, I have felt this rattling pain — a craving for music, specifically music that innately demands dancing.
(04/14/21 3:19am)
After sitting in an inordinately large amount of Los Angeles traffic, I finally arrived at Los Angeles International Airport. However, my journey had only just begun, and I would soon find myself toiling to navigate the logistical and physical maze of LAX. I weaved my way through a line to check my bag, only escaping to enter yet another weaving line of bunched travellers eagerly untying their knotted shoelaces in anticipation. The agitated security staff was already exhausted by the unprepared, lackadaisical passengers that they often encounter, and I made it my mission not to add myself to the list of security fugitives. I headed toward my departure gate.