On my toes

Standing at just about five feet tall, the smaller things in life are clearer to me, while the larger things loom overhead. Maybe it is an excuse for my own vertically challenged bones, but I like to tell myself that it was fate—that I was meant to be this small so I could pay more attention to the finicky details, and especially so that I could be a good journalist. Though it may be contested, I would argue that journalism is as much about noticing the small, minuscule points that make up a story’s inner spirit as it is about setting out the big picture.

I am always looking up—at the double-glass doors marking the entrance to my freshmen abode of Gilbert-Addoms, that stood atop the slight incline of a hill, at the horizontal handle bars of the C-1 that I could never reach, at the box of screws the previous occupant of my Belmont apartment had left on the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet, at my friends converging over me on a crowded night at Sati’s and at the backs of people’s heads as I squished beer-soaked LDOC mud between my tippy toes in an effort to catch a glimpse of Ludacris.

On all of those occasions, I would strain my neck, stretch my arms and do little hops, but to no avail. And by nature of that which is visible but just slightly out of reach, the tangible things became more alluring. As did my intangible ideals and overzealous goals—my attempts to reach for them have shaped a large part of these last four years.

I am notoriously indecisive, and throughout my Duke career I often found myself living by the example of others. When I came to Duke, I looked up to my fellow students and hoped that in trying to reach some elusive ambition, I would find some facet of myself in the process. What I’m leaving with is a college experience shaped by last-minute decisions, strange whims, delusional beliefs and erratic behavior.

As a freshman, I admired the upperclassmen who ran The Chronicle and thought I would dedicate myself to the institution in the same way. But instead of trying to commit myself completely to the tower of campus thought and action, I left for a semester to study in Japan and indulge a childhood dream. After sophomore year, I thought I wanted to save the world and spent a month in a Chinese town along the Russian border caring for orphans. Instead of immersing myself and attempting to extend my stay, I left without a glance back for an internship at an English daily in a bustling Chinese city. This year, after contributing little more than a Recess center spread design every week and weaseling out of the only news story assignment I was given, I find myself pursuing journalism again upon graduation (though I am now acutely aware that it is not fate).

I do not see my somewhat evasive choices to have only brought forth an ultimatum of success or failure. These myriad experiences, unique to me, make up who I am. Journalism taught me to be inquisitive and constantly curious. My travels abroad brought me into contact with people who had compelling and culturally nuanced worldviews, which I am still struggling to fully understand. I didn’t put in 50-hour weeks at The Chronicle, but I used my free time to become an expert on discovering new cat videos and bunny pictures online. When my whims and indecision made me weak, I was able to discern who my true friends were at my most vulnerable moments.

At the end of it all, I guess I did find some aspect of myself. I now know that I am a person prone to last-minute decisions, strange whims, delusional beliefs and erratic behavior, even if I tried planning ahead.

So thanks Duke, for giving me an abundance of people to peer up at, but also for giving me some strength to stand on my toes and look at the world for myself. And for my favorite part of the whole experience: a multitude of best friends who have—literally and figuratively—picked me up and looked me straight in the eye.