Music pulsates through the room like a racing heartbeat. Lights flash in colors I’ve never seen before — reds so bright and blues so cold — casting me under an artificial brightness. Laughter echoes through the crowd, sounding genuine but getting old quickly. Students dance, scream and lean over each other’s drinks. Next to me, my friend smiles for the camera, but once the flash goes off, his smile slowly disappears as he rubs his eyes like he’s exhausted. I sing along to the lyrics with everyone else, but my voice cracks. After looking around to see if anyone noticed, I jumped right back into the song. When the DJ stops and harsh lights come on to reveal the mess of solo cups and spilled liquids, I trudge out of the house carrying one of my blacked-out friends and avoid others under the dead silence of the night. Walking back to the dorm, euphoria slowly evaporates into emptiness.
This semester, I’ve felt this feeling not only after going out but everywhere on Georgetown University’s campus. It feels as if all of my peers perform rehearsed words, stories and achievements to create the illusion that everything is going well in their lives. My classmates and I post pictures of friends on a Thursday night out just to prove we belong somewhere. We force ourselves to laugh to fill the gaps of silence that would reveal how truly lonely we might feel. It takes so much effort to seem effortless. Georgetown students need to stop pretending all the time and start being honest about how we’re actually doing. We should focus on admitting when we’re struggling, skipping a night out when we’re exhausted and asking a friend for help when we’re overwhelmed.
It’s normal for college students to seek fun experiences and not want to miss out on anything, but the amount of pretending that goes on behind the scenes can turn happiness into a show. We’ve learned to chase a version of ourselves that looks best on camera and can tell the craziest stories to earn the hollow respect of others. At Georgetown, the pressure to appear perfect constantly looms over students. As a first-year student, the transition to college only heightens competition, since everyone has to prove they’re thriving in a new environment. We compare grades we pretend not to care about and chase club positions just so we can brag that we got into an exclusive one. Somewhere along the way, being honest about struggling became a sign of weakness.
Our obsession with social media only intensifies our quiet competition. Approximately 98% of college students use social media. We scroll through posts and stories of friends who seem to be everywhere, doing everything and surrounded by everyone. Combined with the fact that 75% of young adults struggle with the fear of missing out, it’s hard not to feel like you’re slipping behind. So we hastily put up an image of ourselves supported by a few wooden stilts instead of building one brick by brick.
Since starting at Georgetown, I’ve realized how difficult it is to find genuine relationships. College exposes you to so many different people, but only a few of those interactions go deeper than just scraping the surface. At the start of the year, I talked to thirty people during a night out, quickly switching from one to the other. But by the next morning, I already had forgotten most of their names. The pressure to socialize with as many people as possible prevents any actual connection. Soon, everything that seems fun — outfits, posts on social media and describing a wild night out — feels scripted and fake.
The pace of campus life doesn’t help either. Students hop from class to meetings to events to coffee chats with barely enough time to breathe. When I see someone I recognize on the path, our quick interactions always take the same form: “How are you?” “Good, you?” “Busy, but good.” Even when we want to slow down, Georgetown’s culture rushes us along.
I’ve caught myself falling into this rhythm; the constant motion of going about my day makes it easy to pretend. I can’t be myself, which makes my conversations feel meaningless and robotic. If you’re also tired of keeping up the performance, try stepping away from it. Instead of going along with quick bursts of small talk, try bringing up a passion or experience you value in your conversations. Walk with one person instead of ten, laugh at a joke that no one else found funny and say what you truly think. Stay in if you don’t want to go out.
When I think about that party, behind all the lights and singing, most of us didn’t seem like we were having as much fun as we wanted others to believe. Now, when I go out, I don’t look for the wild moments; I look for the small moments to find authenticity. One night last month, instead of weaving through the crowd trying to talk to everyone, I stayed with a friend and laughed about something stupid that happened in class. Soon, we shared music that we both liked, and I walked away eager to listen to some new songs and talk about them with my friend.
I’m still figuring out how to find moments that feel real, and I hope my fellow students try to do the same. It is easier to form authentic connections when you can be yourself. Honesty doesn’t magically fix loneliness or stress, but it does take away the burden of maintaining a mirage.
Leo Zhang is a first-year in the College of Arts & Sciences.
