I am on my 20-minute walk home from Central Campus, trying not to socialize with anyone due to this absolutely lethal combination: my noise cancelling headphones blasting Calvin Harris in my ears, and my laziness to wear my glasses or contacts that prevent me from recognizing faces.
I don’t feel my best, and I certainly do not look my best after having hours of classes with no time to properly sit down for a lunch break. In between that anxiety of coming home without seeing or hearing anything, I hear my name faintly in the background. “Maya! How are you? Where are you headed?”
I stop to converse for two seconds, and normally these interactions will happen on Ho Plaza or that one bridge over the Cascadilla Gorge Trail (my favorite shortcut to get home, despite the amount of stairs). I put on a smile, trying to conceal the level of stress I’m having behind my poor eyesight, and then I end with the words, “Alright, I’ll see you!”
In my opinion, there is no better way to end a conversation than with that sentiment. If there are any other good ways to end small talk, let me know!
Anyways, I complete my walk over to Collegetown, actively struggling to process that I am now a junior in college. I am 20 years old, with real responsibilities other than online shopping in my classes, learning how to maintain the “mold” of being a mature adult. However, that aspiration cuts short while walking back to my dorm.
While thinking the small talk was over, I come across Collegetown Bagels, an upperclassman’s favorite hangout. Of course, all class years know CTB and will spend their free time there if they are in the area, but now that I am a junior, it feels like the new Novick’s Cafe.
I am desperately trying to get through the doors of Sheldon Court so that I can just lay in my bed, but to no surprise, I overhear my name once again.
Ugh.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like having these small-talk conversations with people I run into on campus. But after a long day of classes and whatever comes in between, there is nothing I want more than a precious half-hour window to just lay on my bed and exist before the self-inflicted evening academic grind begins.
Finally, I get into Sheldon Court, scan into the building and get to my bed. My body marinates into my mattress topper, and I have never felt better. Then, I remember: my mandatory meeting at 5 p.m.
The reality of being an upperclassman is that the hard work never stops. It’s like high school, where your first two years were solely meant to experiment and find your “passion” — a word that used to trigger my 15-year-old self. I believed that there was a recipe that would get me into a top-tier college, and that my junior year of high school was when that process would really start.
Now, at Cornell, that cycle is repeating, and I am just getting started.
On a Friday afternoon, instead of seeing people enjoy the nice fall weather we are having, I see them dressed in business professional attire, waiting to go to their career networking event where the goal is to connect with someone on LinkedIn who can maybe land you an interview. That process, however, is daunting. 99% of the time, you are going to leave feeling unsuccessful at such networking events, largely due to the fact that there is always going to be someone more impressive.
I’ve realized that as a junior, the academic competition has truly intensified amongst Cornellians. We are all trying to get a good summer internship that can lead to return offers, and instead of working as a team, we are indirectly competing against one another. The environment is unsettling, whether it is thinking about the investment bank we will be working at in the future or the graduate school that is calling our names.
The upperclassmen adjustment is real — we’ve all played the college admissions game before. Now, the new game is figuring out how to build successful careers as adults. With graduation slowly inching closer, it feels like we’re expected to have the next five years of our lives figured out before we’ve even finished the current one. And while no one really knows what they’re doing, it can certainly feel like everyone else does. Maybe that’s the hardest part of being an upperclassman: learning to navigate a new kind of uncertainty while watching everyone around you do the same. We’re no longer just adjusting to college — we’re adjusting to the idea of life after it.
Maya Rothbard is a member of the Class of 2028 in the College of Arts and Sciences. She is a staff writer for the Lifestyle department and can be reached at mrothbard@cornellsun.com.
