In my youthful dorm-life days as a pre-pandemic freshman, I didn’t have any friends.

Well, I had one friend, but she was my roommate, and I was informed by our other roommate that it didn’t count. So, I had no friends — but what I did have was a sense of community; one rife with possibility. The possibility that this day would be the one where I finally talked to the girl from my women’s studies class who I kept running into at the Caf or the guy who I always spotted hanging around the student lounge. 

I once walked into the lobby of the Pralle-Sodaro dorms only to stumble upon a group of my peers huddled around what I can only describe as a furby wedding. Unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice, I asked why the “boy furby” was wearing a suit, and the next thing I knew, I was invited to the wedding and to join their “cult.” Now, I didn’t befriend the furby-cult, but the point is I could have. 

During the pandemic, I never bothered to return to campus housing, and so I was thrust into the isolated lifestyle of an off-campus upperclassman with no clue of what to expect. 

In my month and a half at Chapman Grand Apartments, I have yet to meet a single interesting character like the ones I used to routinely pass in the dorms. I met exactly one cute boy the first week, and even though he lives on the same floor as me, it’s fairly unlikely I’ll ever see him again this year. 

What’s more, I feel like a commuter living at Grand. What used to be a short walk to campus in my Pralle days is now a 20-minute shuttle ride that I have to plan my life around. I used to come and go from my dorm as late as I pleased when I was a freshman. Now, it’s a scramble to see if I can catch a ride with a friend any time I even consider being out past midnight. 

By the time I finally get home for the evening, I’m so fatigued that the idea of dragging myself back to campus is incomprehensible.

As someone who used to routinely attend club meetings, plays and events most days of the week as a freshman, I’m now suffering from a severe case of FOMO. In order to fully engage in the college experience I long for, it becomes a question of either staying on campus all day — which is exhausting — or leaving then coming back — which is inconvenient. 

To make matters worse, there’s also the abysmal unpredictability of the shuttle completely torpedoing my plans on campus when I happen to actually have any. A couple of weeks ago, I lost $15 on tickets I’d bought for “Tartuffe” on campus when the shuttle I’d been waiting 20 minutes for showed up at the time the play began, and then didn’t depart for another 10 minutes.

But I digress. The point, however, is that it’s hard to feel like you’re a part of the campus culture when you live so far-removed from it. 

It used to be that people in my dorm actually interacted with each other. Naturally, given that it was a transitional period for most of us, we actually tried to take advantage of the events our resident adviser used to host, so we could meet new people. I remember my floormates actually interacting on our GroupMe. I was constantly running into people at the Caf, or when I had to do laundry. 

It’s easy to attribute the ongoing global pandemic as the cause of the lack of community I’m feeling, but honestly, it’s probably just nostalgia. I don’t run into random people with the same frequency I once did; the only people I ever see are those who I specifically intend to. But maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be. I’m getting older, I have actual friends now and I don’t need the same kind of support I once did. Plus, it’s nice not living in a cramped, weird-smelling, ugly dorm room. 

Nevertheless, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whiplash from living that reality as a freshman to now suddenly being an upperclassman in the blink of an eye. I missed an entire year of my college experience, and in trying to make up for it, regaining a sense of community is just one piece of the puzzle.