With spring break slipping into memory and summer just out of reach, I’ve found myself falling into an all too common train of thought lately. Dilbert called it “chronic cubicle syndrome,” but for centuries people have been experiencing these flashes of wanting to throw it all away and pack up to some distant land. For me, this escape always has been exemplified by those 1960s communes where freedom, love and only good people supposedly reigned supreme.
Even if you don’t know the source, I’m sure we’ve all heard this line from Cato the Elder: “Patience is the greatest of all virtues.”
As I race through campus on my way to class each day, far too often I realize my stomach’s demands have gone unnoticed. So I find myself queued up at Sparty’s alongside many other students, pondering the same old choices. But imagine a world where our campus maximized its culinary potential: a world where private food trucks were allowed on campus.
Ah yes, an unusually warm spring day, and I’m sitting by the Red Cedar River, pondering life beside the sound of billowing rapids. All at once I see it, a piece of plastic floating through my otherwise unspoiled view of nature.
Walking around campus on St. Patrick’s day, I was reminded of all the reasons why college is such an otherworldly time in a person’s life. Under these conditions it should surprise no one that students are taking longer and longer to graduate.