At the beginning of the school year, you couldn't walk down the hallway of my dorm without saying hello to at least 10 different people whom you made awkward eye-contact with on your way to the water fountains. During the 28 steps from my room (yes, I've counted) I could see into a lot of rooms because during the last hurrah of summer, everyone had their doors open. For, y'know, air circulation. We were also all in that stage of "some of the people I meet here are gonna be some of my closest friends" because we'd all watched Friends and How I Met Your Mother - and where did they meet? oh yeah, in college. The possibilities were endless. "Is it you? Or you?" Having your door closed was never an option. What if you met your new best friends when they saunter into your life through that very threshold? Too risky to slam the door on that opportunity. (Was that pun too painful? Did you even get it? *sigh*)
And every orientation activity, floor meeting, and retreat had the same, "Name, Hobby, Favorite Color, 2 truths and 1 lie" kind of deal. (To help along this frenzy of friendliness) As a result of these games, you tend to remember people by what you first associated them with. "Nicole, Nutella" for example. Yes, the premise of the game was to say your name and a food that you liked which began with the same..oh, you get it. (Nutella is delicious though) Despite the knee-jerk-reaction of "Hey, there's Phil -Peaches" you start to gain a familiarity with the campus.
After the campus has calmed down from the surge in its population thanks to the freshmen class, everything reaches a nice...lull. Now, don't get me wrong - monotony is nice. In a sort of "too numb to mind" kind of way. I'm only kidding. Routine brings a steady rhythm to our generally busy lives and being certain that waking up at 8:45 leaves the perfect amount of time to get to my 9:20 class is a beautiful thing.
As everyone settles into their lives on campus, however, unless you befriended someone, you start to lose track of acquaintances. Typical case of "making the world a little bit smaller". While the initial reaction might be one of isolationism and unfriendliness, that's not the case. I think people are just as friendly. They're just also more comfortable. The residence hall transforms from where you sleep to a type of home. Which I think is lovely, actually.
When this shift happened, I found myself to be discovering all sorts of beautiful surprises. Walking into the building to someone playing the piano. Smelling freshly baked cookies wafting up the staircase. Being offered said cookies (they were delicious). Watching some scenes of The Fight Club as I wait for my ramen to finish cooking. Having a flute practice accompany my late night cuppa tea. When people feel relaxed enough to let strangers in to see their sparks of brilliance, vulnerability becomes mutual. The amateur pianist, stress baker, action film junkie, and night owl musician share with their temporary audience a sense of awe. The shared space becomes an inspiration. A testament to all that led to this fragment in time.
Reflecting on these moments, these flashes of creativity and expression are truly what we live for. As individuals, we each have talents and interests that we choose to pursue. And the fact that I was able to share - for a moment - experiences that encapsulate another's passion is something to be grateful for. I think that finding a love for something that resonates with your soul is fundamental to the human existence - but sharing that love is a precious gift.
And although the moments must end and strangers sometimes stay strangers, we never quite forget those sparks of brilliance we've shared.
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