Cheers to all the peer mentors who resolutely sprinted and squealed with enthusiasm during the First-Year Walk.  You can hold me responsible for any intense suffering in the heat that day, and I especially apologize to my fellow first-years for bringing beach-necessary weather to a place devoid of beaches; driving to Pennsylvania from Florida, I didn’t really believe that the 80-degree weather would follow me.

At first, orientation seemed disorienting in a way; countless activities left me in an unsteady yet happy flurry of excitement.  I was curious about the seemingly calm idea of a First-Year Walk, especially since the corners of my peer mentors’ mouths playfully curved into smiles at any mention of the event.  Did they know something they weren’t revealing to us?  I thought perhaps this tradition was more than just a time to lazily walk into town and window-shop, that a nice little walk was too out of place with the liveliness of other orientation events.  I wanted to know exactly what this tradition was before we continued its history.  Unfortunately, my peer mentors were not vulnerable to my attempt at a puppy dog face, so I impatiently waited until all the other peer groups congregated outside to discover why the First-Year Walk was so important.

Then we were put into rows like in Madeline, and instructed to hold hands with someone of the opposite sex next to us.  I have come to the absolute conclusion that nothing really chips away at barriers to friendship like hand holding for 15 minutes and mumbling about “how awkward this is.”  After apologizing to my fellow first-years for the perspiration that caused our hands to slip around in each other’s grasp, I heard brave students whispering about how happy they’ll be when they’re independent sophomores.  “Yes!” I initially agreed, as the girl on the other side of my hand holding partner and I switched sides so our other hands might dry out for a while.

I admit the entire first-year parade through the town seemed Pied Piper-ish at first; someone in front had the water bottles, and therefore the control over us thirsty, confused first-years.  But before I dismissed this experience as one of little value, I saw that we had already entered the town.

Suddenly, it was an array of romantic brick buildings, shops and flowers that held my undivided attention, and neither heat nor discomfort was occupying my thoughts.  Why had I never processed all this beauty here before?  It reminded me of where I grew up in upstate New York, and it just felt like home.  Most of us had been looking through the car windows at our new town as we arrived for move-in, but cars still act as a barrier between a person and the experience of creation and culture beyond the machine.  Being on the first-year walk gave me an opportunity to engage in the town, its people and my fellow students rather than passively watching it through a window.  That walk allowed my new classmates and I to experience the personal charm of Elizabethtown by each step and in detail; regardless of how much I had seen through my car’s windows as I arrived for orientation, I discovered that there are always more delightful scenes from a pedestrian’s perspective.

In spite of my original, “Oh this is silly,” type of attitude about holding hands and marching in line through the town, I smiled and couldn’t help but laugh when some first-years were summoned from our troop to squeal and yell happily to us in some peer mentor’s car.  It was less of a “walk” and more of a parade, complete with energized people acting as if Blue Jays were something closer to celebrities than mascots.  The attention we were given made the uneven brick walkway resemble a red carpet.

Enthusiasm is contagious.  No matter what I felt at the beginning of the walk, I noticed how much others’ zeal amplified mine in the end.  These upperclassmen weren’t laughing at us as I had thought in the beginning; they were spending time with us, inviting us to feel welcomed into the Blue Jay community.

Without what we initially believed to be a seemingly ridiculous trek through the town, many of us would not have met the hospitable shop owners and porch-sitting people who are our new neighbors.  Being at liberty to meander in and out of places like Folklore and Rita’s, we first-years mingled with people outside of our familiar peer groups.  Add new friends who were forced to share my company to the equation, and sweaty hand holding actually seems okay.

While I am intent on improving my puppy dog face for persuading siblings to watch British romance movies back home, I don’t think I’ll need it very much around here.  I’ve learned to trust my peer mentors, and even though I may not want to attend certain events at first, I will have to remind myself that there are yet unrevealed benefits to taking a first step in participation even on the hottest of days.