A thought about college identity
I've been thinking a lot about the roles graduate students--particularly Ph.D. students--play on university campuses, and how that figures in to their identities.
My alma mater is part of me and will always be, with or without horrible acts of violence. The green grass, the brutal winters, the beautiful red-golden autumns1, and the peaceful breezy summers will always lie epigenetic upon me.
I spent five years there, a year longer than most, and most summers as well. My sister Mollie, too, is likely to spend a fifth year--or so my parents claim--and Marsha is always quick to point out that her master's degree is from Virginia Tech. This propels the place to the status of 'family legacy' in a sense. Still, five years are five years.
And it seems that I may spend as many as seven years here at the University of Texas. Longer, perhaps. The average graduate student rarely plays a major role in the community, but I'm disregarding boringly normative messages and trying anyway.
So what will that make me when I leave here? Am I growing as a person less now than prior to reaching the arbitrarily-imposed U.S. drinking age?2 Is my psychological growth decelerating? I refuse to be a mere passenger. I refuse to stand still.
I involved myself in Student Government and Graduate Student Assembly here because I believe there are others who do not want to be passengers, who want to be active participants in the UT community. We spend more time here than many undergraduates and yet our presence is taken for granted, both by others and by our own selves. That seems wrong to me.
It makes me nervous that I might leave this place more a Longhorn than a Hokie.
I anticipated returning to Blacksburg eventually, to be in the place where my heart no longer yearns despite frequent wind chill and many painful memories. Becoming a Longhorn scares me: what if I return to Blacksburg only to find I yearn for Texas? As Davy Crockett so gracefully put it, "You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas," just before dying at the Alamo. What if my heart can never settle anywhere and be content?
I suppose we have to make a life with what we have; that's the thing I've realized gradually since the shooting.
You can't change time; time changes you. I want to have a say.3
Subtitle: I guess I'm just glad I didn't go to UVA.
My alma mater is part of me and will always be, with or without horrible acts of violence. The green grass, the brutal winters, the beautiful red-golden autumns1, and the peaceful breezy summers will always lie epigenetic upon me.
I spent five years there, a year longer than most, and most summers as well. My sister Mollie, too, is likely to spend a fifth year--or so my parents claim--and Marsha is always quick to point out that her master's degree is from Virginia Tech. This propels the place to the status of 'family legacy' in a sense. Still, five years are five years.
And it seems that I may spend as many as seven years here at the University of Texas. Longer, perhaps. The average graduate student rarely plays a major role in the community, but I'm disregarding boringly normative messages and trying anyway.
So what will that make me when I leave here? Am I growing as a person less now than prior to reaching the arbitrarily-imposed U.S. drinking age?2 Is my psychological growth decelerating? I refuse to be a mere passenger. I refuse to stand still.
I involved myself in Student Government and Graduate Student Assembly here because I believe there are others who do not want to be passengers, who want to be active participants in the UT community. We spend more time here than many undergraduates and yet our presence is taken for granted, both by others and by our own selves. That seems wrong to me.
It makes me nervous that I might leave this place more a Longhorn than a Hokie.
I anticipated returning to Blacksburg eventually, to be in the place where my heart no longer yearns despite frequent wind chill and many painful memories. Becoming a Longhorn scares me: what if I return to Blacksburg only to find I yearn for Texas? As Davy Crockett so gracefully put it, "You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas," just before dying at the Alamo. What if my heart can never settle anywhere and be content?
I suppose we have to make a life with what we have; that's the thing I've realized gradually since the shooting.
You can't change time; time changes you. I want to have a say.3
Subtitle: I guess I'm just glad I didn't go to UVA.
- Autumni? Autumnae? 'Autumns' feels very odd.
- Perhaps, but I don't drink that much (anymore).
- I refuse to stop wearing maroon, no matter what they may throw at me.