adventures@dartmouth

"So," he dared me to answer, "what's the greatest adventure you've been on all term?"
I paused. Words, which so often enter uninvited and without knocking through the door of my consciousness, would not come.
"Well..." I began, with that typical, meaningless word.
I wracked my brain -- had I really gone through so much of the term without going on an adventure? Last year was all adventures! And yet, in that short and confining space of pause, I kept coming back to conversations: in my room, on the Green, in Collis, in class, on walks, in the elevator.
My tone changed: "I've had a lot of incredible conversations this term. They're the most adventurous things I've done!" I laughed, hardly believing that I, fearless conversationalist, self-described people-meeting enthusiast, could think conversations to be befitting of the category of adventure.

And yet, the late nights, the long breakfasts, the getting-to-know, the re-learning, the exchanging of stories, the slow peeling-back of layers that hide The Things Not To Share Yet... what could be more worthy of being called adventure than these? This has been one of my main points of concern this term, the thought that lingers a bit too long, the truth I would rather not believe; that is, what do my connections with people truly mean?

My friend described it well when he said, "You have so many friends, and yet I think you believe that all of those relationships are superficial. You say hello to people so eagerly, and it's so nice and typical-Alexis, but I can't help but wonder: what's behind that?"

What is behind that? Even in this charged writing, this internet-equivalent of a friendly-Collis-hello, there must be something at the core (or, as we say in Comp Lit, at the end of the signifying chain). One of the most difficult realizations for me this term was that, at times, even in what would seem on paper to be the most sincere and heartfelt interactions there was, in truth, nothing there. I was rehearsing a play whose lines changed with each encounter, but whose essential structure remained the same; I was walking through a schema which had only inadvertently retained meaning as a result of its continued repetition. And, in truth, I was sickened by myself, disgusted that such a profound believer in authenticity could behave so inauthentically, just for the sake of experience -- and that's all it could be: experience for experience's sake.

So, there are two conclusions to which I would like to lead you: first, be careful. Be careful, for the habits you adopt, by the very fact of them becoming habits, can fast become empty gestures. Do not be afraid to refill them, to take them out of habituation and set them spinning into spontaneity. Cast off your schemas, and risk finding a little truth. Second, truth is the key to adventure. The conversations to which my thoughts kept turning were those that were the most truthful, the most resistant to habituation or categorization. Opening yourself up to people -- that is, giving and receiving truth -- is the greatest adventure I can think of.

I need not say, as I do in conclusion of every post, it seems, that Dartmouth is a wonderful place for adventure. I will instead say that Dartmouth is a dangerous place for habits; that is, in a place that is otherwise so chaotic and fast-paced, we (the royal we!) find ourselves categorizing those few things over which we can have control (which, in fact, we shouldn't control at all): namely, interactions, interjections, conversations, interpersonalizations. In a place that's free and open enough for adventure, dare to be brave enough to always be adventuring.