Hidden in my bedroom at home, I have a tremendously embarrassing picture that I sometimes like to pull out for moments of private amusement. I’m sure that to the casual observer, there’s nothing at all humorous about a photograph of me four years ago, standing in front a tree on Copley Lawn during a Georgetown college visit. But as graduation nears, I find myself thinking more and more about that image, and the way I felt when it was taken.
Like a lot of high school students, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to go to Georgetown. I don’t know how or when it started, but by my senior year, I was unhealthily fixated with the idea of being a student here. I literally lived and breathed my acceptance letter. And after months of living under such pressure, I came to Washington for a Blue and Gray campus tour – a formality that I had convinced myself had enormous importance.
It was an incredible day to be at Georgetown. The yellow and red tulips surrounding John Carroll had bloomed, carefree students sunned themselves on the lawn and Healy Tower stood out brilliantly against a sky filled with clouds as crisp and white as fresh bed linens. I’m not sure how to describe how I felt at that moment, but I’m certain that I was utterly overwhelmed by such a powerful image. Georgetown’s physical presence was more commanding than I ever imagined it could be, and it only reinforced my already ardent desire to be a part of it.
That’s where things took an unfortunate turn for the worse. It seems silly now, but I was so nervous and overpowered by these self-imposed expectations that I was physically sick. En route to the Admissions Office, I barely made it 10 feet before vomiting underneath the shade of a Copley Lawn tree. Assuming I drank too much the night before, the students playing volleyball not too far away stared at me with both sympathy and disgust. I turned to my mother and tried to convince her that it didn’t happen because I was nervous – I must be getting sick. But she knew better, and I’m finally willing to admit that she was right.
Four years later, I have had the kind of experience that I wish for every college student that I know. Even before I came here, I had a good idea of what to expect from Georgetown – I knew I wanted to make a few really close friends, live in New South, write for THE HOYA, study abroad and, of course, learn a lot along the way.
And for the most part, I’ve been able to accomplish those goals. I didn’t realize, however, how fulfilling and meaningful the experiences would turn out to be. I didn’t know that my casual friends from freshman year would become the people I will miss the most after graduation or that I would feel more at home in Leavey 421 than anywhere else on campus. I wish someone would have told me that my semester in France would be, at the same time, the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve done, or that my classes at Georgetown would shape my thinking in the dramatic way that they did.
In the weeks before graduation, I’ve noticed a lot of seniors trying to make sense of their four years here. A handful of them measure their time in GPAs or LSAT scores, and some by who has the most impressive post-graduate plans. But most commonly, people use the degree to which they’ve changed as a barometer of their college experience. For my part, I know that I’ve changed considerably while at Georgetown – and mostly for the better. Today, I am a more intelligent, interesting, open-minded and unique person than the 18-year-old who moved into New South four years ago. And long after I leave Georgetown, I’m confident that what I experienced and the lessons I learned here will stay with me.
But personally, I find myself thinking more about how I haven’t changed, what’s remained consistent in the last four years. At least once a day, I see Georgetown through the same eyes that I did during my college visit. I still have moments where I feel completely overwhelmed, intimidated, inspired and amazed all at the same time – although I thankfully have the physical sickness thing under control.
The difference is that the total awe I feel no longer comes from the beautiful architecture of our campus or the university’s remarkable rankings. It’s not because I know that people will be impressed when I tell them I went here, or because I think having Georgetown on my resume will help me get into grad school. Instead, I find it in my classes, at lunch with my friends, in a conversation with my professor who respects my opinion and then challenges me to change it. It strikes me when I turn in a paper I never thought I would be able to finish, or when I use the French it took me far too long to learn. I felt it last week at Georgetown Day and at The Tombs, when I was certain I was at the right place at the right time, and most importantly, with the right people.
When I looked at Georgetown four years ago, I wasn’t sure if there were any contributions I could make to a university already so great. Now I know. A lot of things didn’t turn out exactly the way that I imagined they would, but I can’t say that I’m at all disappointed. They turned out even better.
Liz McDonald is a senior in the College and former Senior News Editor, Associate Editor, Contributing Editor and a member of THE HOYA’s Editorial Board.
