Mind the Gap

The matriculation ceremony for this year's incoming freshman class was certainly a warm embrace, if you will. The quest for a diverse “mosaic,” in admissions-speak, had been completed. We, the melting new members of the Class of 2019, were like hot tiles, fit together and at last glued down to the Tufts ground. Our jagged edges and vibrant colors made way for one another and created a fascinating array of perspectives and backgrounds. Diverse, yes, we were also now one, together forming Tufts’ 160th undergraduate class.

In his matriculation address, the congenial Lee Coffin, dean of undergraduate admissions, drew from the earnest words of the students sitting before him to illustrate the wide-ranging experiences that had brought them here. My classmates’ applications contained truths, questions and a shared desire to learn more about themselves and their world. I couldn’t help but listen keenly for a hint at my own story. Soon I realized: no, I could not claim a refugee past, nor a dairy farmer father. In fact, I hadn’t even applied to Tufts among this eclectic group of individuals. Being a member of the Class of 2019 was relatively new for me; after graduating from high school in 2014, I decided to embark on a gap year that would forever alter the course of my life.

Fast forward: orientation has ended, and life around me is settling. The heat is subsiding, routines are adhering and students are acclimating to life alone and together. It is all sinking in, and with a moment to reflect I have a strong conviction: my gap year impacted my life for the better, and it’ll impact my years at Tufts for the better, too. Conversely, I feel bolstered by the breadth I’ve experienced and at one with the fact that the world is utterly confusing, complex and unpredictable. I am aware that this experience, while grounding, was made possible by way of my privilege; this understanding has given me a keen conscience of the myriad identities that I embody. Undeniably I have harbored new doubts and criticisms of the status quo, but also fervent hopes, comforts and, most of all, questions. With these tools, progress will be possible and change, inevitable as it is, will be welcome. I urge those who come next to look inward and envision something…different. To explore what life is and what it can be for themselves and their fellow humans a town or a continent over.

Arriving to this conclusion wasn’t necessarily easy. It felt like I’d traversed not only a continent but a lifetime since deferring my enrollment to embark on a gap year. After spending two semesters in various South American countries and societies, returning to what was supposed to be “normal” life in the United States felt like the most upending shock of all. In the days before arriving at Tufts, I had to process my impending transition even more so than when I’d moved in with a family in rural Ecuador. When I went away, so did my expectations. I learned to live in the moment, wake up to the squawk of a rooster at sunrise each morning with gratitude, communicate politely that I’d like less rice at dinner and look critically at myself and the life I led through discussion and writing. With the year ahead an unwritten book, college came to seem my most remote and foreign destination. At times I had felt my experiences created a distance between my peers and me that perhaps only I felt, like the same poles of a magnet gently but firmly barred from connecting; after all, I had come back with an entirely new view of my world, my country, my privilege and my self, thanks to the independence, challenge and multitude of snakes that had colored my time abroad. Who would be able to relate?

The feeling of being an outsider in my own class at Tufts was brief, and not only because the heat was quickly sapping my attention span. The reality is that everyone has forged their own wildly unique path leading to Tufts, and this is what brings the campus alive. Living in South America for the past academic year taught me to revel in the unfamiliar and to wholly launch into personally uncharted territory, especially when change lay ahead. Optimistic uncertainty is an attitude I’ve adopted, and I’ve come to relish the possibility it holds. Through all of the challenges and subsequent growth and happiness I’d experienced, I too learned that there is a place for a genuine and honest self anywhere. We are fortunate to attend a university that seeks truth from nature and community through programs like Tufts Wilderness Orientation (TWO) and the 1+4 Bridge Year Service Program, but a word to my fellow students (and myself): don’t overlook the beautiful mosaic walking with you, even if it might be settling into the background of normalcy like your morning walk to Carm.

As the occasional blessed breeze blew some relief my way on the Academic Quad, so did the reminder that I was ready. The sensation was reinforced as the memories, songs and chants of my past week of TWO flooded back into mind. This particular pre-orientation trip was appealing mainly because it stirred just a little bit of uncertainty in me; I sensed a challenge. It turned out to be a 5-day encapsulation of the values that made my gap year so pivotal. The energy of the TWO community, palpable from the moment I drove up to campus, was infectious; the songs and traditions that came to connect us like a human knot were magnetic; the simplicity of moving onwards with no sense of time nor direction was freeing. When the ascent seemed insurmountable, the rocks and tree roots hostile, the companionship of the group fostered acceptance and perseverance. The accountability of both leading the group and exploring the path alone inspired self-discovery and some very off-key singing. What mattered most to me about my gap year, and TWO as well, was that it wasn’t easy but bore pure and simple happiness. Facing fear and risking failure make that which isn’t easy much more familiar, comfortable and conquerable. Conversation and query brings to light the possibility of surmounting even our deepest-rooted obstacles, because once faced, they aren’t so daunting anymore.

On the nine-hour bus ride from Tufts to Vermont (no, this doesn’t compute), I thought back to a certain trip in a Bolivian taxi. Indigenous cumbia music screeched from the CD player, windshield adornments jingled and the passengers crammed inside swayed as the decades-old van struggled across a shallow river and up a rocky slope. Halfway to the top of the bend, the vehicle came to a halt. I looked at the driver and then out the window at the incredible landscape, remote and mountainous, gray and green. Many worries might have been appropriate at this time, starting with: who would possibly resuscitate this janky van all the way out here? But instead of feeling anxious, I felt calm. Sometimes it’s best to appreciate the scenery and see what happens next.