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MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016 | 5

What we’ve been waiting for

W

hen I was five years old, I spent some extended time in the hospital—the details of which aren’t too important for this story, except that it was a long time and a hard one. And I had some very specific

multiple times after that, sending care packages and leaving me a voicemail for my seventh birthday. Although communication continued between my family and Robin’s assistant for a while to keep them updated on my

Georgia Parke SENIOR COLUMN ways of passing the time. I recall there was a lot of “Gilligan’s Island” on Nick at Nite. There were endless rounds of Mario Kart on the Nintendo that was blessedly installed in the room. And there was “Mrs. Doubtfire.”

Not your average kindergartener’s movie, what with being about a messy divorce and identity fraud, but for some reason it had me hooked. I would watch and rewind, watch and rewind.

Eventually my mom, who observed this behavior daily, wrote to Robin Williams to thank him for making the movie and bringing me happiness in a difficult time.

Miracle of miracles, his assistant called us back, and asked my family and I to join Robin for lunch once I was well enough. We did just that and spent one of the most memorable days of my life talking about my main interests at the time—Pokémon, dolphins and Powerpuff Girls—as well as joking about how hirsute he was and hearing stories from his many movies.

The friendship didn’t end there, and he visited me in the hospital

I

health, eventually we moved away and one of the surprise hospital visits became the last.

Throughout my youth and adolescence I continued to think of him and his kindness, and how his morale boosts in the form of humor and joy contributed to the literal extension of my lifetime. I often contemplated the idea of writing a letter to give him a full update on my life, where I was in school, what I liked to do and even a photo or two—along with a thank you for everything he did for me.

But years went by and each time I thought about what to put in the letter, it didn’t seem like the right moment. I was continuously on the cusp of achieving something more or reaching another milestone. If I wanted to include in the letter that I’d learned to drive, gotten into college, graduated high school, added a prom picture—I would have had to wait until those moments passed. I wanted to give Robin a full portrait of life that he had contributed to, and another line in the letter was always in sight.

But this went on forever. I learned where I was going to college, but when would I get a 4.0, join a sorority, publish a book, make Phi Beta Kappa, be elected an editor of The Chronicle?

On top of the eternally-extending list of milestones, there were also the ones that slipped away from me (read: all of the items on that list).

Then Robin died two summers ago, nearly 12 years to the day since his birthday wishes appeared on our answering machine. I hadn’t sent a letter, hadn’t talked to him again. He wouldn’t see my grown-up messages of gratitude and we couldn’t rekindle the unlikely friendship. And that felt like the biggest mistake I had made in my short life.

But what I know now and what I have taken from that heartbreak is that Robin was a gift that kept giving. Throughout all this waiting, I rarely realized how miraculous it was that I was waiting at all.

There were times when I was young that it wasn’t guaranteed I would make it to second grade, let alone my senior prom, 100th Chronicle article or dancing in a dorm room at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday.

The imaginary letter to Robin carried the assumption that any and all future milestones were not only possible, but probable, and that I would reach them and have more to tell him the more time went on. The real miracle was that the letter never had to be written because I was never “done.”

And I’m still not done. I’m waiting to graduate in two weeks. I’m waiting for lunch tomorrow. I’m waiting to work in the White House, to backpack around New Zealand and take a road trip with a dog.

This is what is so foolish and crazy about anyone—not just those of us who have had Robin Williams in our lives—who has ever had a career goal, set a coffee date or made a Pinterest board for wedding ideas.

Despite so many challenges awaiting us and so much evidence to the contrary, we assume that the best, or simply more, is yet to come.

And I think that’s what we’ve all been waiting for this whole time, when we wake up and feel like this can’t be all that there is: we are waiting to find the next thing to wait for. We are waiting to set a new goal and recreate our idealized version of ourselves. We wait because it’s possible and because it’s one of the things that makes living so much fun.

I won’t see Robin again, but I will think of him whenever I look around my life for the next experience to set my sights on. A lot of us are about to wear the robes and graduate out of Duke, out of Durham in mere days.

We will too frequently get asked the question, “What are you doing next?”

Many of us will have no location, no job, no long-term or short-term answer in mind, and will just have to see what happens with time.

What a miracle it is that we have a chance to wait for it all.

Georgia Parke is a Trinity senior, Recess editor, former executive digital editor and local and national editor. She would like to shout out to the many inspiring staffers of Volumes 108-111 especially merxola, locopop, Mr. Teeth, dijinisinabottle and gracielou; true originals Ferp, Peegz and Teej; Sailor Moon sisters Bex, NeNe, AJoy and Coco; and Mrs. Doubtfire.

Figuring it out one year at a time

n many ways, my experiences at The Chronicle over my four years here have been a metaphor for growing up.

You know the pattern, the typical indie movie progression: you view

for an assignment because I had “stayed up all night finishing an article in today’s paper.” I would get up early every morning just so I could run to my dorm’s newspaper basket to get the fresh Chronicle with my name printed

Elizabeth Djinis SENIOR COLUMN life with rose-colored glasses until your heart gets broken and you realize things aren’t so simple—or easy—after all.

I still remember one of my first times walking into the office as a wideeyed freshman. For my first story, I was charged with covering a Duke Student Government meeting. I didn’t even think to bring a notebook—I just figured I’d remember what was said at the meeting off the top of my head. In the end, it took me about five hours to write a story about a DSG meeting that probably didn’t even take that long, but I loved every minute of it. As I churned out the last few words of the story, I turned to that year’s managing editor and told her I was simply looking for a campus group to “adopt me.” She told me The Chronicle would be glad to help.

So I was adopted by The Chronicle that year, and it was a whirlwind mentorship. Quickly a few hours a week in the office turned into one night a week, three nights a week and eventually every day. I would ask professors if I could get an extension

on the front page (on good days). I was in love with the whole experience, and, like a child, I thought nothing of the consequences.

But life did get hard. My commitment with The Chronicle started to take away from other obligations, like friendships. As I gained more leadership sophomore year, I also gained more responsibilities. Friends began to take cues from my repeated “Sry, can’t do dinner” texts, and stopped asking me to dinner. I felt like sophomore year was moving by without me and all I could see was the view from 301 Flowers.

My impending junior year brought with it big decisions: did I abandon going abroad for The Chronicle or did I abandon The Chronicle for the former? Ultimately, after running for editor and losing (remember the heartbreak I mentioned?), I became Opinion Editor, but not without reservations. For anyone who has read the petition against Jonathan Zhao, you’ll know that the job is an incredibly difficult and an incredibly

public one. As opinion editor, I began each morning with one eye barely cracked open, scared to look at the emails in my inbox. They ranged from the simple—“I’d like to submit a guest column, and how do I do that?”—to the truly scary: “Who do you think you are?

How dare you publish this column? I’m never reading The Chronicle again.”

As with anything, I got used to it. The emails stopped scaring me and started being the norm. Getting thicker skin was a gift. It was trial by fire, but I finally didn’t have to brace myself for the onslaught of cruel emails in the morning. They were just there.

In the spring semester of my junior year, I decided to (finally?) abandon The Chronicle and go abroad to Rome. At the risk of sounding cliché, it was one of the best experiences of my life, and with increasing returns.

Each day at Duke that sucks a little is made better by knowing that there was a time when I could walk two minutes from my home to the best gelateria in Rome (in my humble opinion). I felt now that The Chronicle had finally set me free.

All this led to my senior year, when I was convinced I would only write for The Chronicle, as opposed to edit, and spend as little time in the office as possible. But my former co-editor convinced me to come back to work for Recess, the arts section, and here I was again, giving up one or two nights a week because, well, “Chron.”

Maybe this was the way my college career was supposed to go. The Chronicle felt like an ex-boyfriend that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard

I tried. “The one that got away”…and then kept coming back. “Could I ever shake this place?” I wondered. But over time, something happened. I started to actually look forward to coming back to the office again. I started meeting younger staff that inspired me. And, through it all, I kept my love of journalism, which is the greatest gift this place has ever given me.

Now that I’m a graduating senior, I think I’ve finally achieved the relationship I wanted with The Chronicle all along: one of tacit acceptance. Now I feel that we can look at each other—as much as the “anthropomorphic newspaper” persona I’ve made in my head can look at me—and say, “Okay, we’ve been through a lot together. Some nights ended in tears, some nights ended in laughing so hard there were tears, but either way, I can look you in the eye and say I’m glad I met you.”

Honestly, from a newspaper with such a complicated history in my heart, that is all I could ask for.

Elizabeth Djinis is a Trinity senior and former Recess Managing Editor (as well as Opinion Editor and Local and National Editor). She would like to thank Georgia Parke for being the best “Chronbestie” ever, always screenshotting the good Snapchats and making MERP a way of life. Thank you to Tom Vosburgh, who always kept the office interesting. And thank you to Rachel, for being the coolest new friend ever! Thank you especially to chronpeeps of yesteryear: to Lauren, Nicole, Sophia, Elysia, Bri, Eliza, Scott and many others who showed me what it was to be an upperclassman and a person.

6 | MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016

MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016 | 7

Growing pains

I

sort of stumbled into becoming news editor of The Chronicle.

Last April, The Chronicle found itself without a news editor for the upcoming year. Our editor-in-chief, who I had met only once before, texted me asking whether I would consider filling

despite not having their full consent.

I have prioritized conforming to style guidelines ahead of basic empathy. These mistakes have sometimes occurred out of ignorance, but more often than not stem at least in part from defensiveness and an unwillingness to admit when we

Ryan Zhang SENIOR COLUMN the position, one that I had not applied for and was not particularly interested in taking. I had very little editing experience. I had not written extensively since freshman year. And, truth be told, I was not eager to devote eight hours a night toiling away in the office and deleting Oxford commas.

But I also knew that The Chronicle needed a news editor to function, someone to carry nights of production and run meetings and help the editor-in-chief from feeling too overwhelmed. So I agreed to fill the role—for at least part of the year—and we managed to cobble together a team of three or four editors that has done some really great work. It has been an incredibly instructive and entertaining experience from start to finish, but it has also been a humbling one.

I have made mistakes as news editor, and we have made mistakes as an organization. I have made mistakes that have hurt people. I have allowed private details about individuals to be published

are wrong.

The Chronicle faces criticism from all sides. It is all too easy for us to sit there in 301 Flowers, towering above the rest of campus, and dismiss our critics. Some of us put in upwards of 40 hours a week in that office, scrutinizing every word in every story and striving to ensure fairness and quality. When you invest that much of your time into producing something that gets attacked on a regular basis, it is only natural to become defensive.

The problem with being defensive— of feeling that the hours you spent always justify the decisions you’ve made—is that it necessarily requires you to close yourself off. In boxing, you keep your hands up to prevent blows to your head or body. That’s the goal—protect yourself and defeat your opponent. But the purpose of journalism is not to oppose, and it is not to defeat. It is to present as clear and as unbiased a picture the truth as possible. When we keep our hands up, all we are doing is diminishing our reach,

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blocking our line of sight, and making our arms tired. Being defensive serves only to prevent us from moving forward.

We should welcome criticism. It can hurt, no question. But when we make mistakes, we need to be held accountable.

And we need to do everything in our power to avoid making them again.

That means keeping an open mind and continually thinking about how we can grow and improve, as an organization and as people.

On that note, personal growth is something that has weighed heavily on my mind as graduation draws near. In some ways, college is a time to become the person you were meant to be, but in other ways, it is only a very tiny first step in that direction.

While I was here, I found that my goals and priorities often aligned with things that we think of as quintessentially Duke—achieving good grades, getting into selective programs, earning leadership positions. I came to measure the passing of time by holiday breaks and application deadlines and due dates.

This meant that when it came to the stuff that isn’t measured by a number, or that can’t be reduced to a line on a resume, I started to fall behind.

Examples: I created a huge list of books I wanted to read, and I barely made any headway on it. I wanted to learn sign language, and after two years of occasional practice I still don’t know more than a few dozen signs. I wanted to get really good at basketball, but instead I am projected to go undrafted in this year’s NBA draft.

So I want to finish this column with a few pieces of advice about growth. I love giving advice, it’s one of my top two hobbies along with eating at Grace’s.

It is advice that is based on mistakes I have made, that comes from four years of doubt and uncertainty and occasional stagnation.

We often think of Duke as this selfcontained experience that starts on East Campus, detours to Central Campus or some foreign country, and ends four years later on West Campus. But here’s the thing: that’s not Duke. That’s the CCX bus route. Being a student is only one aspect of our identities, and it would be a shame for it to be the only one.

Don’t put off growth. Don’t stagnate.

Each day, each new place you go, each interaction you have is a chance to be the person that you want to be. Set goals and work to achieve them even when they don’t seem important, even when you have a paper or a problem set due the next day, or when you feel a little aimless.

Let criticism into your life and embrace it.

And don’t be afraid to stumble. Sometimes you will stumble into something new and wonderful and challenging, and you will walk away better than before and ready for the next one.

Ryan Zhang is a Trinity senior and co-news editor of The Chronicle. He is very thankful for Amrith, Rachel, Gautam, Steph and everyone who, when he was in danger of sinking, kept him afloat. He is also tremendously proud of the rising seniors, juniors and sophomores, and cannot wait to see what they have in store for the future.

8 | MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016

M

Crying in public and other life lessons

y journey to The Chronicle has likely not been unique. It was fall of my freshmen year, and while everyone around me seemed to have found their “thing,” I was left with a handful of rejections and uncertainty

brimming in the back of my mind that doing so would bring yet another failure.

But luck—and I’d like to believe skill— was on my side and I was accepted as fall columnist for my sophomore year. And since my very first column, The Chronicle

Michelle Menchaca SENIOR COLUMN

about where—and if—I belonged. Doors had closed, most definitely, but it didn’t seem like any had opened in their place.

Having signed up for a flurry of listerves, I continued to receive information about campus groups and for whatever reason it was a recruitment email from The ready that caught my eye. And so I ventured up to the no longer intimidating 301 Flowers, reading to pick up my first story.

I loved writing, but had zero experience in journalism. It didn’t matter, they said. I was welcome anyways.

That was—and is—the beautiful thing about The Chronicle. I didn’t have to be great, I didn’t even have to be good. All I had to do was show up, determined to write, and I would have the opportunity to do so.

I wrote my first news piece, and quite a few more after that. But I always knew my true interest lied in writing columns for the Opinion section. Columns were a little trickier, though, as you do have to apply to get in which made the possibility of rejection very real.

But I gave it a go and applied, fear

has become a defining part of my Duke experience, from a regular columnist to Managing Editor then Option Editor then Recruitment. I have spent more hours in 301 Flowers than I care to count, but with incredible people whom I will always remember and be grateful for; I’ve made dynamic friendships and thought provoking encounters, and even found someone I now call my best friend (and sometimes soul mate).

Then there were the columns themselves. It was this sheer act of writing biweekly and eventually copy-editing daily that has been transformative to my sense of self. I have always been a reflection-y type columnist, not so much someone who gives opinions on events but rather my own personal observations and the nuances of campus life. Self reflection is a deeply important quality for me, but the busyness—real or perceived—of college life can make it difficult to pause for a moment and genuinely reflect on one’s experiences. But writing a column forced me to actively sit and contemplate the state

of my existence at least every two weeks, asking myself what recently caused me happiness, sadness, concern or excitement.

For me, writing is calming and revealing and it’s The Chronicle that offered a platform for self-expression I don’t think I truly valued until now.

Vulnerability. It’s an interesting word that’s thrown around a lot now, especially here. Everyone knows vulnerability is important, and most of us have no problem telling others to go ahead and show. But for many, the gap between what we believe and how we ourselves behave has yet to be bridged. And that’s what brings me to the the title of this column—crying in public spaces, which is an ode to a rather recent phenomenon.

Until recently, I would reckon that not a single person had ever seen me cry before (except during sad movies where animals die). It was a quality I wore like a badge of honor—don’t tell too much, don’t show too much, don’t feel too much. These were personal mottos I held close to me. I could express surface level desires and concerns, of course, but anything too personal and I simply went silent. But in reading about others’ insecurities, and challenging myself to write about my own, I began to experience a shift. And now, I am ready to admit, I am a crier. I cry, not often but enough, and not in front of strangers—which would be easier— but people I care deeply about.

I cry, openly and unashamedly.

And yes, I am well aware there are many instances where crying is not appropriate—such as at work or EDM concerts—and that’s okay. I’m not writing this to argue that we should all cry all the time. But as someone who is

often fiercely private about my personal life, my ability to cry in front of people has been a pivotal change.

While The Chronicle is not entirely responsible for that, it has played an integral role. It provided an outlet—gave me the confidence to express opinions both personal and political, even if at times I faltered to profess either effectively. I will always be grateful to those who messaged me or came up to me to tell me that something I had written to mattered to them, connected with them, made them feel something.

As I’ve written before, on a campus of 7,000 undergrads, it is shockingly easy to feel completely alone here.

But I have found that no matter what I’m going through, someone else has likely been through something similar.

There is power in not feeling like we are alone, but often that requires us to give something of ourselves first—to open up, to be exposed, to be vulnerable.

And so for my final concluding college remarks and perhaps the last time I’ll ever write on an online platform again, I say this. Self-reflect thoroughly and thoughtfully, and be afraid to be vulnerable but then do it anyways. Oh, and cry in public—it really is quite cathartic.

Michelle Menchaca, a Trinity senior, is a bi-weekly columnist and former Editorial Page Editor, Managing Editorial Page Editor, and Recruitment Chair during her four years at The Chronicle. She would like to thank everyone who made her time here special and worthwhile, particularly when layout went until 1 a.m. or later for reasons she still cannot understand.

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Finding the forest

E

very semester, I make a list of goals for myself, trying to put into writing what I want to get out of the next four months. The idea, at least in my head, is that by putting my updated list in a prominent place in

I think the official wise saying for this feeling is “not being able to see the forest for the trees,” and it’s something that has gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. We had tree after tree placed before us on our routes to getting here—

Ryan Hoerger SENIOR COLUMN my room, I’ll be reminded about that full list of goals at least once every day and take more deliberate steps to work toward reaching them.

We’ve now reached the end of the semester—the last semester—and as always, my list of goals has become a mixed bag. I didn’t get to run that halfmarathon, but I did get about my target level of nightly sleep, usually only by snoozing well into the morning.

But by far the most challenging bullet point on my list this semester, and all the ones prior, has been the most vague: Step back from the moment and find perspective.

As a denizen of 301 Flowers, those directives are really difficult to live by.

The 24-7 news cycle doesn’t offer many opportunities to take a break. Many times this year, I felt like I was living day to day—sometimes hour to hour— just chasing the next thing on my todo list, from editing the next article to finishing up a problem set to pushing out a breaking news story.

the AP classes, the standardized tests, the extra-curriculars, the application essays. To a certain extent, that same mentality carries over into the college setting. Our generation thrives on doing many things at once, and there comes a point at which getting involved with x number of campus organizations means biting off more bark than you can chew. As sports editor, the need to be on Twitter almost constantly certainly didn’t help my ability to come up for air every once in a while.

But with my days on this campus now numbered, it’s easier to see the forest.

I came to Durham intending to double-major in economics and public policy studies while earning the policy journalism and media studies certificate and writing for The Chronicle. I thought I had all that stuff figured out coming out of high school, and I never wavered in any of those aspirations—those are the graduation ceremonies I’ll be attending next weekend.

I’m now not sure whether that’s a good

thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of those things—I’ve enjoyed all my classes and built relationships with excellent professors, and The Chronicle’s sports hall was where I truly found myself as a writer and leader. But if I spent my four years here intent on doing exactly what I’d set out to do, what did I miss? Probably a lot. There’s no way to fully immerse yourself in all that Duke and Durham have to offer, but I wish I’d been better about doing things to push my boundaries instead of putting so much emphasis on what was right in front of me.

Through my work with The Chronicle, there have been a few moments this semester that have helped me to try to strike more of a balance between throwing all my energy at the task at hand and trying to appreciate the amazing opportunities I’ve been given here at Duke.

The first came in mid-February, when my conversation with head coach Mike Krzyzewski was interrupted by a phone call. Krzyzewski left the room, then returned and explained that the family of Monty Williams—an NBA assistant coach and assistant with USA Basketball—had been in a serious car accident. His wife passed away a few days later.

The next day, I had a phone interview with former Duke point guard Jay Williams, whose career and life were forever changed by a motorcycle accident in Chicago in June 2003. Once again, it only took seconds to fundamentally alter lives—those conversations were incredibly sobering, but they also helped

me keep my personal battles and daily workload in perspective.

The third has been a nearly everyday occurrence. By the time I leave 301 Flowers for the night, there’s not an awful lot happening on campus. On the trek back to my dorm, I spend some time staring right at the Chapel. That building represents a lot of different things to a lot of different people—for me, it’s an affirmation of all the hard work that I did to get to a place as special as Duke, and of all the work I’ve done in my four years here, both in the classroom and for the newspaper.

I’m not sure where that association came from. Maybe it’s because the Chapel is just such an impressive building, and the symbol of this university. Maybe it’s because it’s always lit up at night—rain or shine, win or lose.

Or maybe it’s because last spring, when I finally climbed to the top of the Chapel for the first time and looked out at campus and the Triangle— hundreds of steps above the needs and calls of the daily grind—I saw the forest for the first time.

Ryan Hoerger is a Trinity senior. He served as sports editor of The Chronicle’s 111th volume. He would like to thanks his family for being a source of constant inspiration, support and puns; his V.111 sports masthead (Amrith, Brian and Sameer) for their tireless help; and his friends for putting up with him for four years, encouraging him to get more sleep and tolerating his conspiracy theory 76303 about spray-painting the grass before Blue Devil Days.

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5021A0113 Campus News_FULFILLING CAREER_REDISCOVER_C28791_10x5.9_Various_2.indd Cyan Magenta Yellow Black

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MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016 | 11

The Office of Student Conduct welcomes the following students to the 2016-17

Undergraduate Conduct Board: Lauren Bunce

Trinity 2018

Sarah Darwiche

Trinity 2017

Sanjeev Dasgupta

Trinity 2018

Jamie Doholpolski

Trinity 2018

Sydney Harrington

Trinity 2018

Sarah Jacobs

Pratt 2018

Vanessa Lusa

Trinity 2018

Alan Makhoul

Trinity 2017

Dan McGough

Trinity 2018

Ogechi Onyeka

Trinity 2018

David Soled

Trinity 2017

Brennan Steele

Trinity 2018

Kevin Wang

Pratt 2017

FACULTY: If you suspect any academic dishonesty on final exams or assignments, please contact the Office of Student Conduct by emailing conduct@ duke.edu or calling 919-684-6938 as soon as you identify the concern.

It’s 4 AM. My paper is due in 6 hours. What should I do?

Get as much work done on your assignment as possible. Continue to properly cite references, utilize appropriate resources, and do the best you can. Email your instructor the partially completed assignment and at 10:00 AM, call her to honestly explain your circumstances. Ask for an extension. You may end up with a lower grade, but you won’t end up before the disciplinary process with a possible suspension.

Congratulations, Class of 2016!

Thank you for leading with integrity and character in your final weeks at Duke.

DON’T THINK YOU WON’T GET CAUGHT. Faculty and instructors have seen just about every trick in the book and have heard every excuse.

Each semester Duke students are caught using inappropriate materials during exams, including smartphones loaded with data and crib sheets with formulas. Students access exam information in the bathroom. They submit illness forms to get out of tests when they haven’t studied.

And they work together with one another when an instructor has explicitly told them not to. Students found responsible for violating Duke’s academic dishonesty policies face at least one semester of separation from the university. Don’t waste the opportunities you have ahead of you by cheating on an exam. If you’re worried about a grade, speak to the instructor. Be honest about your concerns. A lower grade is a far better outcome than to have to leave school because you cheated.

Brought to you by the Undergraduate Conduct Board studentaffaris.duke.edu/conduct

12 | MONDAY, MAY 2, 2016

800-662-7419 | JOBS_nrdraleigh@navy.mil