Dartmouth’s Most Important Lessons

Lydia Chammas

Today, I handed in my thesis—a monstrous, blood-sucking 150-page short story collection that consumed my life for five months—and now, in the wee hours of the morning after a margarita and a beer, I’m sitting down to write 1,500 words about my “Dartmouth experience.”

For some reason, my thesis seems like nothing compared to this. I pretty much made everything up in my thesis. Something tells me I can’t do that here.

The thing about writing an article is that you have to know what you’re doing. You have to have a definite point of view, a clear direction, and a carefully planned argument and conclusion before presenting it in a structured format. You taking notes, class?

That is not at all what Dartmouth has been like for me, and most definitely not what I have come to expect from life. I have a solid 2-page Word document open right now with all my ramblings (“What do you care, anyway?” “Friends are a blessing!”), but I can’t piece it together to form a coherent narrative titled “My Dartmouth Experience.” There is no overarching theme or a clever, discreet or beautiful metaphor that accurately describes my four years at Dartmouth.

But there might be a take-away message, or two. I asked a few people about what I should say here, and I’m going to somehow tie together all the thoughts that sprang up from those conversations, with astonishing wit and prowess. You might want to sit down somewhere and put on your comfy pants.

Let’s start with a birds-eye view of Dartmouth, according to me—not some topographical study of our campus, but rather a highly superficial glance at the typical student profile…based on, well, me. Just go with it.

If you were at all like I was in high school, you wore a retainer, had really big hair, and cherished a certain fondness for ugly clothing. I mean really big hair, like Diana Ross style. The kind that doesn’t listen to you, but rather to a higher power commonly known as Genetics. Or maybe yours was greasy and limp; either way, it just wasn’t working for you. If you had really nice hair, and still do, stop reading and know that I hate you. Especially if you had really good skin, too.

Maybe you were also a decent student. Okay, don’t be shy, you were probably a nerd, whether you let it show or not. I honestly wasn’t a Genuinely Smart Nerd—like that kid who just knew everything about World War II at age nine. Did you have one of those? Were you that kid? Mine was unreal, he spoke fluent Chinese even though he was Jewish…but I digress.

Maybe you were like me: a Hardworking Dork, at least those last two years of high school. I was taught that I needed to go to a really good university, because that’s what smart, successful people do. My life would be set after that. Doors would spring open, red carpets would roll… you know what I mean. So I did what I had to do and Dartmouth said that was cool. By the way, if you’re a ’13 (ahhhh) reading this, congrats on getting into Dartmouth because if I reapplied now, there is no way in hell I would get in.

So here we all are—genuinely smart people, hard workers, what have you—in this tiny little place. What’s changed for you?

I, for one, can say I still have gravity-defying hair, the retainer, and the occasional blemish. My skin doesn’t understand how to tan anymore. I also gained about twenty pounds. Eh, what can you do.

I don’t work as hard (thesis aside) or read anything for class. My GPA reached its peak Sophomore Summer, just before I became irreparably lazy and less interested in academia’s world of theory and obscure references. I wrote better papers in Writing 5 than I do now.

I’m unemployed. There are no doors opening, no red carpets. This, I should have known—no one at my school knew what Dartmouth was growing up, and I still have a lot of friends who’ve never heard of it. We are in the midst of the greatest economic crisis since the Great Depression though, so I guess I can’t really beat myself up about it.

Despite all of this, I can say two things for certain: I’m a better student now and a happier person than I have ever been in my entire life.

How am I better student, you ask? Didn’t I just say my GPA has taken a few hits, that I work less, etc.? Yes, I did, but my time in the classroom only accounts for a small part of what I consider to be my education.

The best education I have received in life is from the people I have met, known, loved, fought with, reconciled with, lost touch with, cried over and laughed with; things I will always remember. The reasons why I’m in my happy place these days.

Let’s be real: I don’t know most of you. I’m really sorry about that. Sometimes, this place seems pretty small, but there are all sorts of corners yet to explore, and I’m sad I haven’t managed to sit in your bit of shade. I hope you don’t hold that against me.

Some of you might even strongly dislike me, be it because of your own personal preferences or because of any not-so-good run-ins we might’ve had in the past. Feel free to hold that against me.

Then there are those of you I have loved, and always will. Coming back to Dartmouth senior year has meant the world to me because, for once, you are all readily at my fingertips, be it via blitz or a hug. It’s no mystery, then, why this has been my best year at Dartmouth by far—even though that thesis took away some (most) of our hangout time. That wench.

All of you—even you strangers—have informed me what I believe is the most important lesson I can add to and call upon for the rest of my life: humanity.

On this subject, I have been a diligent student, with the help of you, my teachers (and there’s the corny “thank you”; I guess we’re on the right track!). Sometimes the lessons have been tough, unwelcome, unwanted, unexpected, overwhelming, humbling, empowering—always, they have been valuable. And for that, I say thank you.

Occasionally, though, I wish I’d been able to learn them a different way. I wish I could’ve learned more about respect and different points of view without having to deal with a racist or sexist blitz, joke, article, flyer, etc. It didn’t happen a lot here (this is a lie), but it did happen.

And that’s something I really want you all to work on, if you’re still sitting there listening to me ramble.

It’s all about humanity. You have to be able to relate to one another like people—not like sorority girls or frat guys, not like SA kids or DOC people, not like men or women, not like NADs or pre-meds—but people. It’s been my greatest pleasure to get to know as many cross sections of campus as possible, and call you all friends, not affiliate communities or some junk like that (i.e., cross sections).

And if it helps—because it can be intimidating to look at someone so different from you and think about talking to them—remember where you came from, where we all came from, and don’t be ashamed of it. We’re all that Genuinely Smart Nerd, or the Hardworking Dork, or just that person who wanted very badly to go to a school that had its own Skiway, a giant Green, and the best two alumni of all time: Robert Frost and Dr. Seuss. I bet they had bad skin at one point, too.

So, now, my last bit of advice. The latter of those two great writers once said, “Today you are you, That is truer than true. There is no one alive who is you-er than you!”

Just try to remember that sometimes. It helps when you feel like I do right now—pretty directionless and a bit scared, a bit sad. Yes you’ve grown and matured, but you’ll always be you. And people will always be people—even that kid who ate their boogers in first grade. Or the one who would lick Elmer
’s glue off their palms. Did you have one of those kids? I sure did.

Thanks for sticking with me this far. It means a lot. I’m sure you have better things to do. Now, put this down—it’s a beautiful day (or not, just go with it)—and “your mountain is waiting. So…get on your way!”i

i If you don’t know where this is from, look it up, and have a good cry.