It was the greatest night of my life… I don’t expect many people to understand. I know it wasn’t the typical night or the “norm” for a college kid. Adults—er, adultier adults—have this expectation of us that we’re supposed to be out partyin’, skipping classes, getting wasted. And I can’t help but wonder, if that was their college experience, then how did they even graduate?
But there’s also the adults (again, the “real” adults, because being a twenty-year-old college student is just not the same) who expect you to have no social life because you’re studying all hours of the night, doing all the work on the group project, and maybe remembering to eat and shower. I can see how they graduated, but at what cost?
So these “real adults” raise the next generation to believe that college is one of two extremes: party or study.
I made sure not to choose a party school, and I started off solidly in the study camp. Spoiler alert: This is not a story about me winding up in the party camp. So if that’s what you were hoping for, go read something else. This is my story about the best night of my life.
As I was saying, Freshman Kelsey was definitely dedicated to studying. Most friends I made were fellow study buddies, which wasn’t bad. I was grateful. Aside from them, there were a few acquaintances who would go through the usual, “Chelsea? Kaleigh? Kayla?” I’m not sure why my name was so unrememberable. But whatever.
Midway through sophomore year, I was sick of it. I was tired of not being known. I was exhausted from trying to maintain a 4.0 GPA.
You know what none of the “real adults” talk about? The loneliness. Especially if you are far from home. You’re surrounded by people—people your age even—which should make it easy, but instead you feel all alone.
I tried asking one of my study buddies about feeling lonely on campus. They looked at me like I had announced I was actually an alien from Mars.
As I left the library that night, I noticed the announcement board. Posters were pinned haphazardly, overlapping this way and that, each page a different color, creating a brightly colored disaster that looked like a molting bird. In the midst of the mess, one flyer caught my eye:
The Social Dispute
Location: CL 370
Time: 7-9 pm
When: Every third Tuesday
Join us for civil discussion on society’s most pressing problems,
followed by a FREE ice cream social hour.
By the time the third Tuesday rolled around, I had nearly talked myself out of going. But I had a plan. I would sit and listen to the two debaters discuss the evening’s topic. I would stick around for free ice cream (free food, always a win for college kids), but I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I decided I was too nervous. My win would be attending! On the off chance I wanted to try to talk to someone, I had a great pun about lactose intolerance I could use to break the ice.
Mustering my courage and shoving a fistful of Lactaid into my pocket, I set out for The Social Dispute.
Lo and behold, there were already at least sixty other students when I arrived! Sixty other people, who, assuming they weren’t there just for free ice cream or just for free speech, might be like me. Lonely little Kelsey in need of friendship and a sweet treat.
But what is sweeter than friendship?
Another spoiler alert: This is not a story about me meeting a cute boy. This is my story, all leading up to the greatest night of my life.
By the next month, I was back at The Social Dispute, this time sitting with a couple of friends I had made, even without having to use my undoubtedly amazing lactose-free joke. We said “hey” in the hallways, they remembered my name, and we’d overlapped at dinner in the cafe a handful of times. It had been amazing just being known in such small ways.
The fall of junior year arrived, and I started volunteering to clean up The Social Hour trash. It was something I actually looked forward to, I think because I didn’t want those every- third-Tuesday nights to end. In that sense, I could understand why the partygoers were constantly chasing that feeling.
I found a beautiful balance in working hard on my studies, hanging out with the friends I’d made, taking time to engage in thoughtful discussions, and even volunteering for a simple clean-up. Junior year was truly fantastic! It was the most me I had ever felt. I was known by others, took pride in my work, and—call me crazy—but I was maybe becoming less lactose intolerant??
Come senior year, I believe I had figured out college. The year flew by, even with bouts of “senior-itis.” I landed an internship that would start in June, my grades were looking great, I was a bridesmaid for three upcoming weddings, and I even tried my hand at being a debater for one of our meetings. But once was enough. I decided I much preferred engaging through listening and then discussing it over ice cream with my friends.
So that last third Tuesday in late April, a couple of weeks shy of graduation, I showed up in classroom 370 for the greatest night of my life.
One last time, my friends and I gathered to learn, engage, and share. The Social Dispute committee sent us seniors off with much applause. I smiled through my tears at the lower classmen, finding their own place at this funny little club, remembering my loneliness that brought me here.
My friends and I laughed and cried late into the night as the ice cream melted across tables, leaving an especially runny mess for me to clean up. Without me asking, they all stayed and helped clean up the mess. I knew they felt the same as I: No one wanted this night to end. It was the culmination of so many best nights all wrapped up into one final night.
That’s my story. A typical night, running in its typical fashion but with a strong dose of the end of something special. It was the greatest night of my life, not because of anything incredible accomplished but because of the memories made.
If you have any takeaways from my story, I hope it is this: Loneliness is not the end. Muster your courage (and grab some Lactaid if you need it) and put yourself out there. Go, make a friend! Be like me (my name is Kelsey, by the way, in case you forgot).
Go be a friend to the other Kelsey’s in the world who are awkwardly waiting for the exact right moment to drop their dumb joke in hopes of making you laugh and therefore making you their friend.
As an author, Alexandra Rexford enjoys writing stories with wit and romance, including a dash of danger. In a perfect world, she would spend all her time writing, reading, sipping hot cocoa, and snuggling with her dogs.
Featured image by Courtney Cook on Unsplash.
