As the first week of class comes to a close, I watch the new faces on campus milling about, carrying themselves and their books to their classes in frenzied excitement. It’s always interesting to see these little sprouts budding in their new flower bed, ready to be water lillies and wallflowers, but struggle against the sea of sunflower stalks that grew here before them. Their seeds stumble as they acclimate to the soil. Their underclassmen eyes marvel at our brilliance, but what they don’t realize is that we were once saplings too. There’s always such great pleasure seeing these neophytes walk the steps I once did with just as much anxiety as I carried myself, but the best feeling comes from knowing I’m the one to welcome them, to coax them out of their shell, to ease their apprehension.
College was once an unknown garden to us too, whether we were scared sh*tless or sailed on dandelion puffs. When we landed in STAC’s soil, we too struggled to take root in its suburban soil, each with our own reason. I, for one, longed for different dirt, the loam of a soil bed across the river. My roots writhed, but they resisted the earth, and because I refused to accept my lot, the height of my stem was stunted. I cowered in the shade of the shrubs that surrounded me for nearly a year before I clambered up their stalks with vines of my own, eager to soak up sunrays. When I finally did, the other blooms pursed their petals to greet me, but I could only recall that I sulked my existence away under the weight of regret for an irrevocably long time; that mistake cost me much. Those willing to immerse themselves in the soil will find minerals in its mix. I wouldn’t want another person to that lesson through trial and error. So when these underclassmen waltz into the student center with uncertain expressions on their faces, I welcome them with wide grins.
The joy in being an Orientation Leader doesn’t come in cash. Even as a second year, minimum wage still trumps my pay, especially for the hours we work. No, the satisfaction comes in companionship, the laughs shared between team members, the stories made, and the games played. Training is the best part of the job; it’s where a new family is born. Bonds are built amidst the turmoil of tightropes and harnesses, and a family forms in the comfort of paperback cards and campfire s’mores. Pandemic becomes a word for both scorn and celebration, and werewolves hide between graham cracker cards.
Satisfaction also comes in the smiles and sunbathed beams of the freshmen as they blossom into full-fledged flowers. When you welcome life with open arms, your buds burst open, and you marvel at your radiant plumage, waving your petals in the breeze as you discover them. Whether pungent or demure, delightful or disgusting, these flowers know they belong in this soil. They are the seeds and we, as orientation leaders, are their gardeners.
