Jump in, dance and be yourself
Kerry Smith
Senior Staff Writer
Sometimes you just have to dance to the music. You have to take what you're given and roll with it. You have to let loose, forget people are looking at you and just have fun.
Those who frequent the Linebacker Lounge more than once a semester when their exams are done know that.
But it was a lesson that took me a long time to learn.
The 'Backer creates no apathy: either you love it or you don't. If you love it, you're addicted, and if you're addicted, chances are you've got things pretty well figured out, even if you haven't realized it yet.
Unlike other student-favorite hangouts, the 'Backer doesn't call for women to dress up in their tightest pairs of black pants and skimpiest tops; it doesn't ask men to tuck their shirts into their freshly-ironed khakis and comb their hair. It simply asks them to come and have a good time. There is no viewing deck and there is no stage; people don't come to watch, they come to live.
I spent half of my college experience watching.
My best friends were the ones geographically closest to me, not the ones I had the most in common with or those who challenged or intrigued me the most. I had friendships of convenience, not those of substance.
I did what Notre Dame and Saint Mary's students were supposed to do. I did what everyone else did.
I put on my cutest outfit and hit the random dorm party on Friday night, looking for the ice-cold trash can of Natty Light.
I wore my pajamas to the dining hall and turned a meal into a social event, gossiping with section mates and chatting with the random guy I met during freshman orientation.
I studied with friends on the second floor of the library, not because I was worried about passing my Philosophy 101 exam, but because the spot served dually as a place to read over my notes and whisper about the girl at the next table or the guy that kept walking past, glancing in our general direction.
My roommate taught me how to use Instant Messenger and all of a sudden I had 38 Buddies, 17 of whom I wouldn't dare call on the telephone.
I bought too many dorm-colored shirts and attended hall events like it was my duty, not my choice.
I had so many friends, but so few who were as close as I would have liked or was used to.
College was fun, but it left something to be desired.
Then I learned how to live.
I didn't even notice it occurring. I'm not even sure its catalyst; maybe I just grew tired of the unconscious acting, the dancing out of sync with the music in my head.
The inevitable process of growing apart with my instant freshman friends occurred during my sophomore year, leaving me with two choices: I could continue to be the person I had thought I should be, or I could be the person I wanted to be.
I chose to be myself.
And in that moment it happened.
I realized true friends were the ones who liked me in jeans and a sweatshirt, not those who thought black pants and high heels should be typical Monday night attire. They weren't the ones who I hung out with because I was looking for someone to talk to, but the ones who I couldn't stop talking to — the ones who call for a second and stay on the line for hours.
I learned I didn't need my roommates' approval of or participation in the activities I took part in or the groups I joined; real friends needn't be attached at the hip.
I found studying didn't have to be a social event. In fact, if it wasn't it went a lot faster. I accepted that pleasing everyone was impossible and the only people worth pleasing were those who cared about me the most.
I discarded everyone else's expectations and tried to live up to my own.
The change was gradual. I didn't even think about it or fully realize it had occurred until I started going to the 'Backer.
I went once and thought it was fun. I went again and I was hooked.
At first, I couldn't figure out what the bar offered that was so captivating; there were lots of places around campus to drink and dance.
But after a few weeks I realized it was the atmosphere that set it apart from the rest.
The 'Backer is the perfect place for individuals. Women in formal dresses, men in cowboy hats, couples in jeans and sneakers, girls with boas and guys in shorts mix together having fun without worrying what the man across the room thinks. The dance floor is usually so packed, you can't see beyond the person in front of you, even if you tried. There are no expectations, no stares, no judgments. People come to be themselves and be with their friends. They don't come to show off or put on an act.
And that's how life should be.
The things I have learned in college have been priceless.
My academic pursuits have been more than rewarding and my degree is invaluable.
But the one lesson I will walk away with in my heart is that living doesn't occur in the quest to be accepted.
It doesn't thrive in the attempt to do things the way others would.
And it doesn't happen when you think about it too much.
Living is being yourself, jumping into the crowd and letting loose.
It is having the courage to seek out or happen upon true friends.
And it is dancing no matter who is looking.
Kerry Smith is a graduating senior and former Assistant Managing Editor.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Friday, May 17, 2002
