By Melanie Biles ‘18
Hello, friends. It’s been a minute.
In fact, it’s been so long that I feel like I need to rebrand myself. You know, create a new reputation and all that. I’ve grown a lot in the last year. Changed. Become more mature. Now I only spend half of my time watching Netflix in bed, instead of all of it. Thus, I request that you please view this entire piece as similar to that episode of New Girl in which Schmidt decides to reinvent his image and ends up juggling torches while glistening with some kind of oil - season 2, episode 1, if my endless marathoning of useless television has taught me anything. Although I do not glisten, these words are my juggling torches.
So many things have changed and developed since I last appeared on these hallowed pages. We’ve seen the rise and fall of trends, conversation topics, friends’ hairstyles and friends in general. Taylor Swift cut her hair. Again. The word “bae” disappeared off the face of the planet entirely. (That one is a little bit of wishful thinking, I suppose, but if it did happen I would certainly not be disappointed.) I learned how to needlepoint, which is not a valuable or marketable skill in any way. Most dramatically and most recently, Pitzer has stopped serving my favorite vegetarian sausage at breakfast. This is, of course, a true tragedy - what else am I supposed to gently perch atop my bagel for an excellent mix of protein and texture? Nothing else delivers that feeling of true satisfaction gained from a well-constructed breakfast bagel.
I think the sense of betrayal bestowed by a dining hall that changes its menu is an emotion far more deeply felt than most. In fact, I would like to take a moment here and now to mourn the loss of all of my favorites. For example, Mediterranean flatbread wraps, also at Pitzer. Never again will my Wednesday nights be punctuated with a perfectly formed flatbread wrap, filled with all sorts of delicious vegetables and easier to eat than a falafel pita. Few combinations measure up to the combination of Mediterranean wraps and Wednesday night. Taylor Swift could only dream of writing a love song that captured my truly deep adoration of those nights in McConnell, shoving a wrap into my face as quickly as humanly possible. But alas, someone out there decided that falafel night was a better idea. And though I grieve, I understand.
In all seriousness, though, a lot can change in a year. The last time I wrote for this publication was as a second-semester first-year. Not to say that I suddenly understand the secrets of the universe, but I definitely feel a little less lost. The most important thing that has changed, apart from the vegetarian sausages, is the fact that I now understand that literally nobody has any clue what they’re doing.
Nobody knows where they want their life to go or to what kind of job their major will lead. Few people are even really sure of the major itself. So don’t worry about who’s doing what, or where, or with whom. Don’t stress about which dining hall to choose now that Mediterranean wraps aren’t on the table. Nobody is sure of what they’re doing; you don’t have to be either.