Hello out there, you with your 13 class credits and one-club commitment. How’s life? Pretty nice, I’m sure. Sitting with friends in John Jay for hours, never missing an episode of Project Runway, organizing your schedule around your friends—ah, I remember the days. I’m so happy that life survives in you, because it’s all a part of my past. See, as much fun as I had doing that, going out and sleeping late three times every weekend, it just wasn’t very “me.” I’m a doer. It’s an innate part of me. So as socially stellar as I felt with so few commitments first semester, it couldn’t last.
I got my Spec column, joined three very active clubs, was cast in a show and a play, and took on a 10-hour-a-week internship in Brooklyn. Not to mention took five more credits than last semester. And now—well, I can hardly breathe. This isn’t me whining or complaining about that to you. I’m really busy, and I chose to be that way, and I accept that that’s part of my personality. And it’s not for you. I accept that, too. What I need you to understand is that when I come in from a 14-hour day and get straight down to work, you—who I don’t stop to talk to in the hallway, and who I didn’t call to have dinner with—need to understand that that’s not me being “mean.” I’m just busy now. You’ve chosen to stick with the fun, great life we shared last semester, and I’ve decided to leave that in the past. Your decision is fine—really, seriously, fine—just different than mine. OK?
The way I see it, there are basically 2.5 groups of people out there. There are those really fun, really social, always-around-to-do-whatever-you-want people, and there are the people who sign up for way too many things, constantly complain about the stress and franticness of it all, but on some level know that they were the ones who brought it on themselves, and wouldn’t have it any other way. The final .5 is a third, elite group of people who technically fall under the first category, but have a unique ability to play mommy for members of group two. They’re the people who buy you (member of group two) a cookie when they know you’re really stressed, or leave the light on in your room when they know you’re coming back from Butler after they go to sleep, or, in the case of a truly special .5er, offer a massage when the stress starts manifesting itself in your body (this is no lie, these people do exist).
As someone who is firmly planted in group two, but looks fondly and without disdain on all members of group one, I have something to say: for the good of us all, we need to be kept apart. Let’s be honest, we don’t mesh. You’re really sick of me staring at my planner during the meals I squeeze in with you. I look at you bitterly every time you make even the smallest comment about the amount of homework you have. You’re getting a little embarrassed to be around me ever since sweatpants and ponytails became the only look I have time for. And hearing about your new six-times-a-week gym regimen, well—it makes me feel like you’re dropping hundreds of eight-pound weights on my head.
The housing questionnaire for first years includes questions like “What kind of music do you listen to?,” “What time do you go to bed?,” and “Are you a generally neat or clean person?.” Foolishness. There should be one and only one question—“Are you a doer or a relaxed/fun/‘chill’ person?” Group one-ers and Group two-ers were just not meant to live together. When we do, bad things happen. They stare at us in disgust as we devour our carbs or third can of Red Bull at 1 a.m. We are overtaken with bitterness when we have to creep around our rooms early on a Friday morning to leave for an internship as they soundly sleep the day away. They think we’re being “mean” when we just really don’t have time to go out for dinner on a regular basis or talk for hours at night or even explain why exactly we are so stressed. All floors should contain either only Group one-ers or only Group two-ers, with a smattering of 2.5ers wherever they can be found. That way, one-ers won’t have to worry about being yelled at when they accidentally ask a two-er what their plans are for going out on Thursday, and two-ers can happily sit in the lounge in free moments and compete over who has the busier schedule. The world would be so much simpler.
Listen, I have admiration for, and even a desire to be a one-er. I just know that it will never happen. As long as I’m at Columbia—OK, as long as I live—I will overbook myself and get stressed to a point that will scare people. I am the way I am, and you’re the way you are. The world needs both kinds of people. But a true member of either group will never be able to understand the mind-set of the other side. Let’s accept it, smile and wave to each other around campus, and respectfully keep our distance.
Ariel Hudes is a Columbia College first year. Undeclared runs alternate Fridays. Opinion@columbiaspectator.com.