It is going to be exceptionally difficult to write about my first year at NYU without being cliché. I’ve definitely grown up after eight months in the big city, and I’m going to tell my story as honestly and frankly as I can (without the cheesiness, if possible). The realizations I’ve made this year about myself are the same realizations that medieval writers and artists made hundreds of years ago-they are observations about humanity we cannot ignore; observations that speak truth expressed through literature and art, verse and song. Man is not perfect; there is always room to grow, and the experiences and stories we share speak to that nature. Most importantly, our experiences and stories, both medieval and present day, emphasize that life is short, and as we get older and wiser we realize that we must make the most of every opportunity we are given, and open our hearts and minds to all who cross our path before it is too late.
Unfortunately, I came to college with a set of expectations and a narrow mind. I had a clear idea of the kind of life I wanted to live, the types of friends I wanted to make, and the boys I wanted to date. I envisioned fake IDs and late nights in heels on the weekends, a crowd too cool for school (because after all, we do go to NYU), and perfect grades through and through. I decided I wouldn’t find a boyfriend because “NYU doesn’t have boys” and I wouldn’t join a sorority because Greek Life was for suckers at state schools. I was going to be the quintessential sophisticated city girl dressed to the nines with perfectly straightened hair and crisp leather boots. When I found out my roommate was a beauty queen-the reining Miss Long Island Teen-no less, I thought we wouldn’t be close because I didn’t associate with “pageant girls”. When I found out she does not drink and had never kissed a boy before, I thought she would be boring and uptight. Similarly, when I found out the girl I sat next to in my high school senior year art history class would be going to NYU and coincidently living next door to me, I had instantaneously decided we wouldn’t be friends because we had drastically different groups of friends in high school, and “we were looking for very different experiences at college”. I had my life at NYU planned to the T before I even got there, and I was determined to live by it.
Let’s just say, it was very clear, that even after I gradated, I was stuck in high school. I was narrow minded, judgmental, and more than anything, I cared exceedingly too much about what other people thought. I’m embarrassed to say I cared more about what my Facebook pictures represented than the actual experiences themselves. I was so worried about what I thought would make me happy at college that I forgot about the little things that actually do make me happy. Of course, nobody I was close to really knew these secrets and fears. I was always Katie: bubbly and sweet, golden-hearted and down to earth. I was the girl people confided in, the girl who seemed to be above the drama and pettiness of high school. But looking back on it, I was just as juvenile as everybody else.
Flash forward six months. I’m home for spring break, catching up with my best friends from high school. Everybody is giggling, throwing out stories about ridiculous nights, crazy professors, and the brilliance of college life. I smile and laugh, but overall, I’m pretty quiet. “Tell us about NYU, City Girl!” they beg me and I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. So I begin with the words… “NYU is not at all what I expected, but it’s been the best time of my life.”
I’m best friends with my roommate, Miss Long Island, and every night we laugh and bond over our days, going into the trivial little details of our mornings and afternoons. When I need a pick me up we’ll have dance parties in our room and I’ll wear her sash and crown as we laugh and prance. She’s hilarious and outgoing, fun and loving. Together, we make a dynamic duo. When she needs a friend, I’m there to listen, and when I need to talk she gives the greatest advice. I’ve grown to respect and have great appreciation for her life choices, and even though our life styles are different, we get along phenomenally. She’s organized and dedicated, in bed by ten every night. I admit I’m a little messier, and have a bad habit of staying up until two writing papers and poetry, listening to music and chatting with friends. I don’t think twice about her choice not to drink or date anymore, and we often laugh about how worried I used to be. She’s shown me that I do not need to drink to have fun, and now I only pull out the fake ID occasionally, and I hardly ever wear heels on the weekends.
I’m also best friends with Lauren, the girl I went to high school with who coincidently shares a wall with me on the 8th floor of Hayden Hall. Our high school friends are always amused by this story, and often ask us how our friendship came about. “Katie and Lauren?” they ask quizzically. Lauren and I shrug our shoulders and laugh, and admit living next door to each other must of have been fate. Even she assumed we would not associate in college, and our communication would be limited to friendly hellos in the elevators. These days, we live in each other’s rooms, bonding over silly high school memories and musing over our newer college memories. She accompanied me on my Cloisters trip this past weekend, snapping photos as we browsed the gardens. My friendship with Lauren sometimes makes me sad because I realize in high school I closed myself off to so many people I didn’t bother to get to know. Sometimes I think about all of the missed friendships and people I didn’t befriend for stupid reasons.
Likewise, my boyfriend, who Lauren happened to introduce me to, is far from the type I imagined dating. In fact, if Christian and I went to high school together, I doubt we would have been friends at all. A tall blonde with innocent blue eyes and a welcoming smile, he’s a little bit shy and lacks confidence because he didn’t have the most memorable high school experience. He was always the cute kid in the back of the room with straight A’s who you didn’t bother to get to know because he was too busy studying or fencing. However, he happens to be one of the sweetest, kindest, most loving individuals I’ve ever met. When I told him I didn’t care about his reputation in high school, and there was no reason to be ashamed of his past or be afraid to talk about it, he praised me for being so genuine and open-minded. I don’t think he realizes that he has helped me become an open-minded person. It is through individuals like him that I realize how much of the world I used to shut out.
A common theme that runs through my experiences this year and medieval art and literature is the fragility of life and the importance of keeping an open mind. Nothing is more important than life itself, and if freshman year has taught me one thing, it’s that life passes fast and it is important to experience everything to the fullest while there is still time. As I was walking through the Cloisters, I stumbled upon a tapestry that exemplified my feelings towards what I’ve learned. Entitled, “The Hunt of the Frail Stag” the tapestry depicts the murder of a stag. A woman and her hunting dogs chase the stag through a lake, and it is clear the stag’s death is near. The stag represents man, and the piece laments the importance of living life before it is too late. Inscribed on the top right corner of the tapestry reads:
"Then Old Age mounts an all-out assault
That drives him from the lake
unleashes upon him Pain and Doubt,
Cold and Heat, and thus brings on
Care and Trouble to seize him
And Age with wrinkled flesh
And Heaviness make him flee
Toward Sickness, the dreaded one."
Essentially, the poem depicts that sooner or later pain, sickness, and trouble will lead to our demise, and we will not live forever. I see it as a reminder to live life to the fullest with an open mind.
This theme of fragility is also emphasized in a variety of medieval stories. One notable example is the “ The Knight’s Tale”, a short story in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. In this story, two knights, Palamon and Arcite, best of friends, end up falling in love with the same woman. The two knights decide to duke it out, the winner receiving Emelye, the princess. Palamon and Arcite stage a friendly battle put on by Emelye’s father, and Arcite wins the battle and Emelye’s hand in marriage. However, immediately after Arcite’s victory, his horse throws him into the air and crushes his body. Arcite is fatally wounded, and dies almost instantly. Mortified, Palamon, Emelye, and the whole city of Athens mourn the brave knight’s death for days. The unexpected freak-accident reiterates that death can spring at any time, even after a great victory. Chaucer warns readers to be grateful of life, and to live fully and passionately because it can disappear in a flash. Life is too short to be small minded and judgmental.
Finally, the beloved Islamic medieval love story, Layla and Majnun tells a sad story that speaks to the detriment of holding judgments. In this tale, the respected and handsome Prince Qays falls madly in love with Layla, a beautiful princess of another kingdom. It is love at first site, and the two lovers, who meet as children, quickly realize that they are soul mates. Qays, however, becomes so madly in love with Layla that he devotes his entire life and existence to her. He is named “Majnun”, which literally translates to “madman” because he is so insanely in love with Layla. Unfortunately, his love for Layla is seen as strange and as an embarrassment to the community. He is known through out the lands as a crazed fool; therefore, Layla’s parents forbid their marriage. This breaks Layla’s heart, as she is deeply in love with Majnun and now must spend her life hiding her true feelings.
Ironically, Majnun’s demise is a consequence of loving Layla too deeply, too passionately. Although his love for Layla is not a flaw, he is looked down upon and ridiculed endlessly. Although he is a peaceful poet, Majnun is viewed as a raging, violent lunatic and Layla’s parents would rather have their daughter killed than have her marry him. Layla’s family is so concerned with the kingdom’s reputation that they forget about their daughter’s happiness, and forget that Majnun would be an ideal husband if given the chance. Layla’s father did not even bother to get to know Majnun and has little understanding of his admirable commitment and deep love for Layla. Unfortunately, it is not until Majnun’s death that the kingdom comprehends the tragedy of his story. Touched by Majnun’s pure devotion to Layla, the two lovers are buried together. However, it is too late to change the wrongs committed, and the petty judgments and worries about reputation prove shallow and vain compared to the couple’s divine love and tragic demise.
Coming into college, I set standards and expectations for myself. I don’t know whom I was trying to impress, or what I was trying to prove, but I’m so happy that things turned out differently than I imagined they would. Life is too short to keep a narrow mind; it’s too short to judge people on first impressions. These medieval stories and art pieces speak to this important value. It’s important not to get caught up in the trivial worries of reputation and vanity because we only live life once. When people ask me about my friends and experiences at NYU, I’m at a loss for words, but I get the biggest grin on my face. Where do I begin? I can proudly say I have tons friends in every school of NYU with a variety of interests and passions. I can proudly say I’ve joined a sorority-and love it-even though I promised myself I’d never be a “sorority girl”. I can proudly say that I can’t put a label on my friends at NYU because we’re all so different. Some of us are beauty queens; others are moviemakers. Some are champion fencers while others are writers and fashionistas. Some hit the bars while others hit the pillow. We only have a few years to live, so why limit ourselves? My freshman year has been one of the greatest years of my life, and I’m not afraid to say that I’ve changed for the better, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
