You’re so vain, you probably think this column is about you

I think most of us spend our teenage years into our twenties wanting to belong to someone, cycling through crushes, collecting prospects like pokemon, hoping maybe somewhere in the chaos of hook-ups, homie-hops, flirtationships and other entanglements, something beautiful will happen.

We go to parties looking for partners, light candles for future lovers and craft perfect endings for imperfect nights. We are all, in many ways, on a quest for love, but more than that, we are on a quest for belonging.

The first time I remember feeling that I belonged was when I was maybe three or four. m y dad used to take me to this restaurant called The Tombs, and we’d sit at the bar together chatting about preschool drama or h annah m ontana, my short stubby legs dangling from the tall barstool. o ccasionally, some beer-clad Georgetown boys would buy me s hirley Temples and wave shyly from the corner. And while I was the only toddler in the establishment, I’m convinced that restaurant on 36th s treet was the one place I truly belonged.

Growing up, I’m sure we all found belonging somewhere — whether it be at a cozy restaurant like The Tombs, on our childhood sports team, in a friend group or at a favorite cafe where all the baristas know our name. And for some of us, we found belonging with a person — a best friend or family member or partner.

These days, when I think about relationships, specifically the romantic ones, I think about belonging. Perhaps love and belonging are one in the same, defined by those rare and beautiful moments when someone feels like home, when our hearts pump in sync with someone else’s and suddenly their words become our words, their songs become our songs and everything feels unified and right.

That kind of harmony is hard to come by, and if you’re anything like me, you hang onto it for dear life.

b ut all things end — even those things we belong to. Your favorite coffee shop will likely go out of business, your freshman year friend group probably won’t last and that boy you loved will no doubt move onto someone else at some point. And suddenly, you’re sobbing on s outh Quad listening to “ r eal Love” by b each h ouse, snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes; and suddenly, you’re on hi-bye terms with someone who used to know everything about you.

This is the nature of loss: when we lose someone, we might feel a bit more alone. We might feel empty in the places they used to fill. b ut even when that emptiness, that void, aches to be filled again, even when we itch for a rebound on a Friday night or someone new to take their place during our m onday and Wednesday lunch break, we can only grow if we sit in that void.

It was only in that void that I realized I’d spent my entire life wanting to belong to someone when I’ll only ever belong to myself.

I thought about all the people I’ve loved (or almost-loved) and all the things they’ve given me—gum, rides, music recommendations, compliments, reassurance. And then I thought about all the things I’ve given myself.

I thought about the runs and vitamin water and endless playlists. I thought about cool thrifted jackets and late-night Grotto trips and afternoons sprawled in the grass writing poetry. I thought about solo lunch dates and long drives and lake walks. I thought about all the ways I take care of myself — all the ways I belong to myself — and I realize, I am unshakable.

I am fine on my own.

I am cool on my own.

I am whole on my own.

n ow, we all know these things to some extent, but to know them intimately — and to really believe them — takes time. For me, it took nearly two decades, a fateful “kissing disease” diagnosis, some long conversations with God (and my therapist), and a couple of near-love experiences (in the wise words of s elena Gomez, “I needed to lose you to love me,” — sorry, I couldn’t resist).

b ut really, it took loving, losing and learning to love the loss, for me to get where I am now. And where I am now is in d e b art, in my favorite sweatshirt, as the golden light pours in from the west and, of course, sometimes I think about the boy I once belonged to, the boy who introduced me to glitch-pop and fraternity handshakes or the friend that ate baguettes with me in the s afeway parking lot all those years ago…but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Kate Casper (aka, Casper, Underdog or Jasmine) is from Northern Virginia, currently residing in Breen-Phillips Hall. She strives to be the best waste of your time. You can contact her at kcasper@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

A while ago, all of my friends started downloading the app b e r eal and would ask me on a daily basis if I had finally downloaded it yet. m y answer was always no, until a few months ago. I had finally decided to join the trend. The app encourages you to live in the moment, and for those who don’t know, according to their website, “ e very day at a different time, everyone is notified simultaneously to capture and share a photo in 2 minutes. A new and unique way to discover who your friends really are in their daily life.”

I always thought this was such an interesting concept and truly an innovative addition to the social media world. o ur generation is so used to looking and acting a certain way on social media, trying to adhere to a “societal standard.” Generally speaking, people aren’t going to post about the day they spent doing nothing or the hours they spent with their friends working on homework. r ather, people tend to post things that make their social media look like a highlight reel.

With the creation of b e r eal, however, people were able to challenge the “highlight reel” narrative…to some extent. While it encourages you to take a photo in the moment, it also encourages this idea that you have to post everything you’re doing to social media. You can also retake the photo as many times as you want and don’t have to post at the exact moment the b e r eal notification goes off. A lot of people will wait to post their b e r eal until they are doing something interesting or fun, which, in a way, defeats the purpose of the app entirely. A lot of people tend to get caught up in the belief that, if you didn’t post it on social media, it didn’t happen. s ometimes we tend to forget that we live in a world where we can b e r eal outside of social media without all of the filters to match a certain aesthetic. We don’t need an app to validate that we enjoyed doing something with our friends when we can just recognize it ourselves in the moment instead.

Last week, I was looking at my average screen time and noticed that it was almost eight hours, which seems like a lot. To no surprise of mine, my most used apps were TikTok, s afari, Instagram, i m essages and s napchat. This checks out. After a long day of classes, I often find myself scrolling endlessly through TikTok and Instagram before going to bed. What was once intended to only be 30 minutes of going on my phone before calling it a night turned into two hours, more often than not. And what was once intended to be a phone free walk from my dorm to my class at the other end of campus turned into replying to s napchats, catching up on any missed emails and then, if time, scrolling through Instagram and b e r eal to see what my friends were up to.

As much as I appreciate the connection that social media brings people, I also recognize that with this connection comes a disconnection. We are so focused on what other people are doing that oftentimes we forget to stop and look around at what’s happening right in front of us. And sometimes, it’s the little things that get overlooked the most. In an effort to notice the little things a little more, I’ve made the decision to go on my phone less, to enjoy the freezing ten minute walk to class without feeling the pressure to post my daily b e r eal. That’s not to say that I might not still have nights where I find myself on my phone for a few extra hours. I just want to notice the little things a lot more.

To me, being real has nothing to do with the app b e r eal. b eing real is about living in the moment and enjoying the people you are with. o ftentimes, we don’t realize what we have until we no longer have it. To me, being real is about creating memories with your friends without necessarily feeling the pressure to post about it on social media. b eing real is about noticing the things that are right in front of you and not taking them for granted. In the process of it all, if you end up with a cute picture you want to post, that’s great. Ultimately though, what matters the most is that you are able to have fun and enjoy the people you spend your time with and that you are able to look back and not wish you had been more present. Personally, I’d rather look back and realize that I was able to b e r eal in the moment, instead of focusing so much on when an app told me I had to.

Isabelle Kause is a sophomore at Notre Dame studying sociology and minoring in journalism. When she’s not busy, you can find her listening to country music or Taylor Swift or trying out new makeup/skincare products. She can be reached at ikause@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

Andrew Marciano v iewpoint copyeditor

The first fall of snow is always the most memorable experience of a s outh b end winter. h owever, by the time January and February roll around, the cold just becomes an inconvenient nuisance. In addition to the horrid wind chill, black ice covers the sidewalk that makes your usual walk back to the dorm a consistent near-death experience. I may sound dramatic, because I am, but the weather often makes me wish I was back at home in sunny s an d iego. h owever, blaming the m idwest for having seasons even though I choose this school is just another way to blame someone or something for what they can’t control.

e ven then, throughout my three years of college, I have had many existential questions about the things I can’t control, the cards I have been dealt and about my future. Why go to a school known to have inclement weather when I could have gone somewhere back out west? Fair question. m aybe it was the romanticization of the snow, the web of n otre d ame connections, the fact that my brother went here or the maybe the chance that Taylor s wift may one day perform in n otre d ame stadium. Yet somehow, for some reason, I would prefer to be here instead of anywhere else. b esides the weather, I deal with existential crises about my major, wondering if I went down the wrong tract and should have gone pre-med instead of economics, considering the rest of my family is in the health field. s ometimes I wonder what would have happened if I did something else somewhere else. b ut I can’t live in the “what ifs” that cause me to wish I were anywhere but here. b esides, who’s to say I can’t mix my economics degree with some health-related business? Yet somehow, for some reason, I would prefer to be here instead of anywhere else.

And of course, a college campus does not come without its fair share of conflicts in which I often dream about being home in peace rather than being here. d ifferent levels of anger, disappointment and sadness. Why, out of everything that has occurred, would I want to be here? o n one hand, it is necessary to confront conflict, but on the other hand, it is often better to avoid it. b ut conflict can make you a stronger person, and, when you have the right friends by your side, you know everything will be alright. Therefore, for many reasons, I would prefer to be here than anywhere else.

After everything I’ve done in this three years, I still cannot even find an appropriate answer the prompt “Why n otre d ame?” because, from the weather, education crises and the usual conflicts, something still pulls me here throughout all this nonsense. n ot to sound philosophical (or dramatic) but, it does not always make sense. m aybe it was because I found the right people to spend my time with, or maybe it is the gut-instinct to go for the best opportunity. There are things I know for certain, and there are things that are just unexplainable. Yet somehow, for some reason, I would prefer to be here instead of anywhere else.

You can contact Andrew Marciano at amarcian@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this Inside Column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.