“Stretching” January 27, 2010

A yoga position I'm expected to do, but can't

And one I (sort of) can.

One of the most terrifying aspects of my second semester at Swat is the power yoga class I’m taking. Okay, maybe terrifying is a strong word, but if you knew me, you’d understand why a class about balance and coordination scares me so much. I didn’t learn to ride a bicycle until I was fourteen years old. I walk into walls with alarming frequency.  I have been known to trip over pebbles and fall out of perfectly stationary seats. I have zero athletic ability.

Yoga is hard in ways that I’m not even sure I know how to explain. It combines a gracefulness that I have never managed to develop with a necessary concentration on physical movements. This means that while I’m forcing myself into positions like Downward Dog, High Plank or Happy Baby, I can’t be thinking about my Sociology reading, or the people I need to interview for my newspaper article or the funny story that I want to tell my friend Linda. And that mental discipline might be even more difficult to deal with than my rigid muscles and tendency to fall over.

At least all that physical stretching is matched by the way I have to stretch my time. The second week of the term is when life at Swat starts getting crazy again, especially when you’ve committed yourself to a relationship with something like The Phoenix that takes up 15 hours a week. But that busyness is okay, more than okay, in fact, because even when it’s tiring, I really enjoy being kept busy.

I think something common to a lot of Swatties is a desire to be active in a community as many communities as humanly possible. Everyone ends up joining groups, and whether those are tutoring clubs, religious or political organizations, sports teams, or even something as light hearted and recreational as a knitting club, everyone eventually realizes that the days when you could take things easy are long gone– if they ever even existed.

There’s a lot to be said for relaxing on the weekends by sleeping late, going to a party, or getting dinner outside the Swarthmore bubble with a few friends. Swatties enjoy that too, of course; we’re only human. But being a student here requires a love of work, both academic and extracurricular, and genuine enjoyment of being productive.

“Excitement” January 21, 2010

… And we’re back!

After a month of sitting on my bed reading and knitting, watching way too much television, and seeing lots of family and old friends, I returned to Swat ready to work, interested in my new classes, eager to reunite with friends, and just slightly nervous. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help worrying that I would be overwhelmed by the new reality of grades, instead of pass/fail. And much as I hate to say it, I was afraid that– to rely on the cliché– the honeymoon would be over. Maybe, I agonized, now that everything isn’t so new, I won’t enjoy it as much. Maybe I’ll suddenly notice some seedy underbelly, and realize I actually don’t belong here at all!

I shouldn’t have worried. Admittedly, any excitement I might have once felt about, say, eating in a dining hall (“I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want!”) is long gone (replaced with, “I guess I’ll be making another sandwich tonight…”). And since as of today, I have been in every academic building at least once, the campus does feel a bit smaller.

But that’s not a bad thing, really. The excitement might be tapering off, but it’s been replaced with a sort of general comfort. I’ve developed a routine, loose as it may be, and I’ve figured out a group of people that are friends. Adventure is great, but there’s a lot to be said for being able to rely on certain people to sit with you at lunch and study with you.

Getting back into the swing of juggling reading analytically, writing papers, working on The (incredibly time-consuming, yet extremely rewarding) Phoenix and managing to sleep, is easier said than done– and not that easily said, now that I think of it. But, tired and slightly behind as I might be, I’m loving being back here.

I thought those moments of being excited just to be here were over now that my first semester is a thing of the past, and I accepted that. But as I walked back to my room from McCabe two nights ago, looking at how pretty the street lights on Magill Walk are, I got the feeling that they aren’t gone for good.