I live in a college town. I have often heard people joke that it would be a great place to live if only there were no college students. Every year at this time, a special kind of dread sets in.
The idyllic peacefulness of summer is replaced by a frenetic energy that is fueled by hormones and alcohol and limited brain function. I no longer feel safe as I drive or ride my bike because they are out there and their minds are elsewhere. Sometimes I start to feel a little resentful. Why do they have to be so disruptive? Why do they have to take up so much space?
Usually when I ask these questions my mind goes back to a time, five years ago, when I volunteered to answer the phones for a crisis line. I worked the overnight shift. Most of the calls were from college students. Their pain was palpable; clearly transmitted through the phone line.
They reminded me that young adulthood is a difficult terrain to navigate. I was certain I would never trade places with them; no amount of energy or passion could compensate for the inherent struggles. Clearly many of them felt that they were adrift on a lifeboat, no land in sight.
The memory of those scared kids on the other end of the phone fills my heart with compassion. I still watch out for mindless college students on the road but I do it with more kindness and less anger.
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