Editorial: On the In-Between

I have, as you may know, written at length about the College’s various “big weekends.” In these editorials, I decry the erosion of some of Dartmouth’s greatest traditions into mere counterfeits of their former glory, if they still exist at all. (In this, I speak of the chariot races around the Green our readers so loved, and the untimely end of such an event due to “security concerns.”) By no means am I recanting my prior sentiment, but as my time at Dartmouth comes to a close, I am struck by how much we are willing to sacrifice on the altar of “the big weekend.”

I do not claim to know whether every Dartmouth student purposefully misses class or shirks their extracurricular obligations in anticipation of the College’s big weekend. In fact, I would more likely believe that the average Dartmouth student takes the time ahead of the weekend to prepare themselves for three days (and nights) of the week during which they’ll favor the basement floors over the halls of Baker-Berry. The sacrifice I speak of is not academic in its nature, nor is it corporeal. Rather, there’s a temporal sacrifice that surrounds the hype of every big weekend. The notion that one weekend will make or break your term’s social success is a myth we perpetuate every term. 

In a ten-week term, the game of “catch-up” takes hold of us quickly. You’re one reading behind, then you’re two readings behind, and you still haven’t “grabbed a meal” with the friend you promised you would. When the things you used to enjoy—literature, academics, companionship—become an obligation, they begin to feel unbearably heavy. As you trudge along with your newfound burdens, the idea of stopping to take a second to spend time outside or grab coffee with someone dear feels like a luxury, not a necessity. 

The fact you’re here speaks to your academic ability, but your “Why Dartmouth?” essay surely spoke more to your excitement over exploring small-town New England and climbing Gile Tower than about your eagerness to spend all night reading scientific literature about the molecular structures of proteins. And yet, so many of us find ourselves in the same predicament—postponing the simple joys of everyday life in service of an imagined culmination that never quite delivers what it promises.

We convince ourselves that the big weekend is our respite, that it will justify the days spent rushing from obligation to obligation, the late nights spent hunched over our work, the friendships relegated to “let’s catch up soon” texts that never materialize into reality. We look forward to these weekends as if they are the moments that will define our time here, but in doing so, we risk neglecting the quieter, consistent experiences that shape us more deeply. A college experience cannot, and should not, be built on a foundation of fleeting highs.

This is not a plea for abstention, nor is it an indictment of tradition. If anything, it is a reminder that the best traditions are not confined to a single weekend but are embedded in the fabric of daily life. The true spirit of in the late-night conversations that stretch until morning, the shared laughter over a meal, the impromptu walks around Occom Pond, and the countless small moments that, in hindsight, define our years here.

When we funnel so much of our energy into an all-or-nothing approach to joy, we rob ourselves of the ability to appreciate what is in front of us. We become complicit in a cycle of postponement—always waiting for the next big thing, always telling ourselves that the best part of our experience is just around the corner. But when does the corner arrive? When does the waiting end? 

There is a kind of patience required in learning to love the everyday. It is the same patience that allows us to enjoy literature beyond its utility for a class discussion, to take pleasure in the process rather than just the result. The Dartmouth experience, if it is to mean anything at all, must be more than a countdown to the next big thing. Rather, it must be a steady, intentional engagement with the present.

As my time here nears its end, I find myself wishing I had understood this sooner. The most meaningful parts of my Dartmouth experience were never dictated by a date on the calendar. They were found in the in-between moments—the ordinary evenings turned unforgettable by a long conversation, the friendships strengthened by quiet consistency. The irony, of course, is that these moments were never rare; they were simply overlooked in favor of what seemed more important at the time.

We would do well to reconsider what we give to the big weekend and what we take from the rest of our days. There is nothing wrong with embracing tradition, but tradition should not come at the expense of the richness of the everyday. If we wait for one weekend to define our experience, we risk missing the experience itself. Perhaps, in the end, the greatest tradition of all is learning to be fully present in the life we are already living.