Dear Charlie Sellars ’13,
I think you are the cat’s pajamas. You occupy a special place in my phone that is reserved for people to call or text when I want to do something that no one else would do with me. You would probably respond equally well to “Want to go bungee jumping?” and “Want to make a pie with your feet?” In fact, I can see you assembling the ingredients now.
I will say, however, that you are occasionally terrifying. You are a living bucket list. I’ve never had students break a table with their passionate embraces while I perform live music, nor have I ever launched fireworks. Frankly, I think there’s a lack of other bands on campus because they know you have fireworks. And personally, while I appreciate and love your unending zest for life, I sometimes need a lower standard of living every day to the fullest. When we climbed a tree for our Junior Advisor (JA) date, I thought I was going to die. I almost flashed science quad when my shirt was snagged on a branch. I couldn’t even call the tree back the next day, because I was so embarrassed.
Which brings me to my real point, and my message to the senior class. It’s okay. We don’t have to be Charlie Sellars. It took me a while to accept this, but you and I can let our inner octogenarians out. We’re senior citizens now. We can kick all the bucket lists to the curb, because, collectively, I think our class has done it all. We can absolutely ride for free on our class’s collective glory while basking in our own personal successes. Don’t freak out if all you accomplish in a day is watching five episodes of Breaking Bad and making some slightly burnt toast. Charlie Sellars just nursed a baby squirrel back to life, and that one definitely gets notched up to our class.
I would also like to expand on Charlie’s advice to “Do what you love with the people you love,” by suggesting that we all thoroughly stalk each other before EphCatch rears its horny head. This is the ideal time to network, which is what businessmen call “making friends,” because we’re all young, living on relatively the same budget and slowly suffocating under the amount of work that we’ve put off to watch Breaking Bad. I’m not just talking about connecting on Tinder or LikeALittle (is that still a thing? I just checked and it’s been DISCONTINUED. I’m floored), but about making that jump in cosmic energy from “class friend” to “outside of class friend.” You can manage this easily by running up to someone at a party and shouting, “I HAVE A FRIEND CRUSH ON YOU.” And if you offer someone your last warm mozzarella stick, I’m sure they would take a bullet for you.
Ultimately, this consensual stalking isn’t just so Hilton Head or senior week can be less awkward. It’s so that we’ll be able to run into each other on the street or at an embarrassingly hipster coffee joint or in Germany (when Homage is playing at the Berliner Philharmoniker) and have some shared past experience. It’s okay if that experience is simply when we were like, “I got a Macklemore ticket the first time, then it wasn’t going to happen, then it was and then I got another ticket but wasn’t as excited about it.” It’s also so that, when our class’s average Body Mass Index finally rises above 22.3, we can appreciate the personalities behind the aging façades.
Finally, I highly recommend Charlie’s tragically neglected “go to Storytime” bucket list item, because you can get free cookies while further basking in the glory of other people who go to Williams. This is the only bucket list item that I will condone, because the rest is just you doing you. It wouldn’t be fair if I required you to complete my personal bucket list, because I’m pretty sure I bought the only onesie at the Paresky Thrift Shop sale and I am extremely competitive about finishing off the baked goods that Abbi Davies ’13 makes. Instead, we could all just compile moments we’ve loved at Williams to create retroactive bucket lists we can own with pride. We won’t even have to steal Charlie’s banana suit for an Intermurial game.
Sarah Freymiller ’13 is an Arabic and sociology major from Culver, Ind. She lives in Poker Flats.