Plastic utensils are often valued most after the acquisition of a dear food. In my case, the worst nightmare came true: I have no way to cleanly consume a piece of Smores pie from Shari’s. It is sitting here right now, a symbol to my lack of proper planning. I have the highlighters, I even remembered wet wipes and Q-tips. The last item on my list of priorities, seemingly, was the ability to nourish my body with sustenance. Needless to say, saltines have been a close friend over the past few days. If only I could smear them with peanut butter.
This is something of a stain on my reputation. Oftentimes I am the one living through lists and turning planners into ink-filled schedule collections. It would be one thing if I had simply forgotten the basic utensils, however, I dropped the ball even further. There are no plates for pancakes, no bowls for cereal, and no cups for cranberry juice. It gives me an excuse to order Domino’s right off the bat, but one can only sustain themselves on cheese and tomato sauce for so long without feeling a lingering sense of shame. Point of information: Never feel bad for indulging in “too much” pizza, there is no such thing.
Everyone is sick to death of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but it does make one worthwhile point: We need to eat before we contemplate the nature of the universe. I think we are all part of a generation which prefers self-actualization to green beans, but the brain still requires its maintenance. Today, I had the opportunity to watch Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in all sorts of contorted, twisted forms. Freshmen move-in day, where hearts are broken and the journey begins.
The bees begin buzzing and everyone has the same task: Get everything into the room. I watched the madness from a perfect seat right outside of Simplot. Hayman can be more hectic than I enjoy, though the glimpses I gleamed were of smiling, panicked faces tired of carrying heavy boxes. There is a certain beauty looking at all of this as a senior. Everyone has a lot of hope and optimism in their hearts. Despite the immediate challenges there is little despair or true anger. The bees buzz happily and, perhaps more exciting than that, the hives start to form.
Fall is an interesting time at The College of Idaho. The first four weeks set the stage for what feels like an abstract three-act play. In the fall we see groups and organizations form while everybody finds their niche or grows even deeper into the aforementioned roots. From there, everyone goes through their challenges and sees fate reach a standstill. Winter has come, and everything changes for a while. The cold chills of Idaho freeze us into the shells we have made and it becomes difficult to break out of the molded ice of our own existence. We get to spend a lot more time in our heads and looking towards the future while assessing our identity and how content we are with things. Then comes spring, which is ultimately a blitz towards the finish line. Every day is a dramatic burst of something, hectic and fiery. The energy, however, still tends to remain genuinely positive before the end finally comes.
In seeing the new class of The College of Idaho I am witness to the same traditions of old working their way out of the woodwork. This year is not a special year, though it marks our 125th anniversary of being an institution. It is a standard year, the same-old song and dance. Consistency is an astounding thing, I’ve found, especially in regards to what The College is and what it means. It is my hope that this year brings several opportunities for growth and adventure to my peers. I look forward to one last hurrah before my time in Idaho comes to an end.