Three years ago, Hopkins was a different place.
As a freshman, I shopped at places with names like "RoFo" and "UniMini." The upperclassmen went to CVP, while we underclassmen put on our trucker hats and Uggs and explored the row of fraternities on 33rd Street. Those of us who were slightly more sophisticated learned to sneak into the other campus hotspot, P.J.'s, via the basement of the Charles.
Life was rough. There was no edible food to be found anywhere on campus, and even worse, there was no such thing as Facebook. We had to stalk each other the old-fashioned way. And we actually had to go to the basement of our buildings to see if any washers were free.
Unbelievable.
And like everyone else, after my first few months at Hopkins, I was sick of food poisoning, dirty basements, un-airconditioned dorms and long hours in an underground bunker of a library. The "I Hate Hopkins" virus had been unleashed.
Every year, I came back to school in August determined not to fall into the trap of arbitrarily hating the Hopkins lifestyle. I vowed to make the best of the situation. Every year, I told myself that things were going to be different.
When I came back to campus this year, they actually were. RoFo and UniMini are long gone, as are -- quite thankfully -- the trucker hats and the Uggs. When I look out across 33rd Street from my room in Charles Commons, there are no fraternity houses to be seen. There's construction everywhere, and with it, a lot of change.
Most of the changes we've experienced lately have been positive. The departure of Sodexho? Not so tragic. A student section at athletic events? We're there. But one major difference is that when I was a freshman, Charles Village felt safe. It turned out that it wasn't -- and that realization came at a too high a cost. Tragedy after tragedy led us to change after change. We learned that our relatively sheltered existence as college students was vulnerable to the very real dangers of the surrounding world. Painful as it was, that realization ultimately made us safer, and it made us do a better job of looking out for each other.
But of course, it also made it impossible to sneak into P.J.'s, the Charles, or any other building inhabited by Hopkins students. And yet, I'm not complaining.
Neither is anybody else for the first time since I've been here. Can it be that, as Hopkins and Charles Village have changed, the students have changed with it?
After spending countless semesters demanding changes to better our lives as Hopkins students, the biggest change I've noticed this year unquestionably has been that we've spent our first few weeks at Hopkins actually living our lives rather than trying to adjust to them. We're not adjusting to the overwhelming pressure and sense of isolation that once greeted us at the beginning of each new year; we're trying out new places to go, and using safer ways to get there.
This fall, it's hard for even Hopkins students to be cynics.
Though it's not as finished as we might like, there's not much to complain about concerning Charles Commons. My friends can't complain about having to walk miles to get to it, I can't complain about feeling isolated living inside it, and when my laundry is done, I get a text message.
Best of all, it's in the center of a reinvigorated Charles Village that even Mary Pat Clarke might enjoy. It's a new year, and the fraternities are back with clean slates. Over the weekend, E. University was overflowing with student activity -- but just not on any of the front porches. And the shining star over the summer and this fall has been the arrival of The Den, the newest addition to the Hopkins social scene. With its posh ambience, bottle service and beds, no longer do we have to wait for St. Elmo's parties to dress well and enjoy a bottle of champagne. No longer do we have to pay $10 to cab over to Federal Hill for overpriced cocktails. Now it's all right here, conveniently located above Tamber's, within stumbling distance of three dorms and five apartment buildings.
Granted, some things about Charles Village will never change -- P.J.'s and CVP are still hard to beat for a night out with old friends, and The Den is unlikely to ever have a foam party. But as the school and community we've returned to is evolving, so is the mindset of students who are returning to it. It's a community of students which is not hard-pressed to find places to go out or people to go out with.
This year's freshman class has turned out in enthusiastic hordes to Orientation events, including setting record numbers for the freshman day of service, Involved. Like we were as freshman, they're eager to try out their new lives here at Hopkins -- and, as students returning to a changed campus, the rest of us are too.
Let's leave the cynicism in the past, along with the trucker hats and the Uggs.
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