Tonight marks the beginning of my new life as a student. I'm totally terrified.
I'll be attending orientation at Wollman Hall. It just sounds like an orientation hall, doesn't it? Wollman. Wollman Hall. Scholarship practically bounces off of its sturdy syllables. I've officially changed my preferred method of carting items to and fro from patent chic to utilitarian Jansport. I loaded up a chunky black two-strapper last night with an apple (yes), sandwich and pretzels. This morning I slipped in my brand new spiral notebook, an ice blue Meade beauty with a textured matte cover eagerly awaiting my class notes. When I hoisted the padded straps over my shoulders the awkward new weight tested my balance, pulling back as I pitched forward--two different agendas in conflict. On my way to the train I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window: a studious-looking Quasimoto.
Choosing a first-night-at-school outfit posed another challenge. I wanted to look young and Village-y, to somehow pull off magenta tights and an extra long scarf. I thought I'd even anchor a French twist with a pencil. Casual student-next-door meets foreign supermodel. In the end, the best I could come up with was a wide satin headband, some black glitter hoop earrings and a pair of lace-upVans. A David-Lynch-re-imagines-Lily-Allen-with-an-office-job kind of costume. The only salvation was my ipod and the Beasties circa the last time I was actually in a classroom. Hopefully nobody remembers Ill Communication's release date.
Talking with my sister, who begins her master's program tonight, we realized we have no idea how to be students in 2009. "Should I bring a laptop to my first class?", I asked. "That's kind of Harvard-y", she replied. Right. I'm nobody's Elle Woods. Except for the fuzzy pencil topper part. "Don't we just need Pee Chees and Trapper Keepers?", she squeaked. Golly, I thought so. The last time I was in an academic classroom we used computers to play The Oregon Trail. This is gonna be bananas.
My biggest fear is that I'll become a shrinking violet, somehow defaulting to my high school self--alienated and silent. Or that I'll find I'm out of touch, bringing my Bics to a Blackberry convention. Or that it won't change my life. Or that it will.
I suppose no matter what happens it's too late to turn back now. Every day will be an exercise in avoiding a self-imposed complex about my age, status, accomplishments. I've spent much of my life running from the way I felt in high school but maybe there was more to learn from that time.
I can only hope that nobody will be egging my car in the parking lot this time around.
Fingers crossed,
OneKate
