In love with Yale's single lifestyle

By Joelle Laszlo

At the end of last year, my friends and I put together a book of drawings illustrating our favorite memories of the previous eight months. My drawing was called "My Single" with stars around the word "Single." Though I missed having someone to say "Good night" to, I quickly fell in love with the idea of my own space. My room ensured balance within my life; everyday I could feel safe entering the tumult of Yale because every night I return to my own private space.

That spring, room draw took place. My choice was between an annex single or life in the college with a roommate. In the end, I took the advice of my dean, who said to put more stake in whom I wanted to live with than where I wanted to live and to trust that everything would work out for the best. It did. I got a single in the college and thanked the dean for his advice. He offhandedly pointed out that I was the only person I wanted to live with, and we both let it drop.

One of the classes I shopped this fall was Allan Stam's Society and War. While discussing the syllabus, Professor Stam observed that the "greatest resource" we have at Yale is the student body. He encouraged us to form study groups, saying that too many people cringed at the idea and ultimately missed out. As he spoke, I realized that for a moment, I had cringed.

A few days later, I asked a math professor for advice on whether to take his course. During our discussion, he promoted the idea of joining a study group. He felt that the competitive atmosphere at Yale too often impedes helpful alliances. He observed that when his students have problems they "are more than willing to come talk to [me], but don't ever talk to each other."

Competitive atmosphere? I don't think I've ever felt the pressure of competition in my two years here. Sure, I've seen pre-meds struggle to stay above the curve, but that seemed like a fact of life, something that would happen at any university. On the contrary, I enjoyed the fact that, generally, it wasn't every student for him or herself. I let people borrow my notes and assumed they would reciprocate. But I stopped doing that last year. I began to consider my notes a pretty good resource, and wondered if I should just hand them over without a care.

In high school, I learned the meaning of the slogan "If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself." That's why it was nice to be here among others who wanted to work. When I talk to people back home about Yale, I inevitably rush through the part about how neat it is to have teachers who have written books, and focus on how wonderful it is to live among so many talented people. Friends, classmates, people I read about in the paper: they never cease to amaze me.

Yet I find myself in the bedroom where I not only sleep, but also relax, and do nearly all of my studying. People visit occasionally, but mostly it's just me and my stereo. Any exchange of thought that goes on (one-sided as it may be) takes place between me and the textbook. It wasn't always like this. During my freshman year, I enjoyed living with three new and great people, with whom I'd compare schedules hoping to share a class or two. I was afraid of even approaching one of my professors, and decided that maybe I'd get up the nerve when I was "older." Now that I think about it, I did even take advantage of a study group a few times.

Yet I've slowly gravitated away from situations like that, and I believe that my position isn't rare. I still eat meals with friends, play intramurals, and go to section. Which is why I'm not really sure what all of this, taken together, says about me, or about the "Yale experience." I can't say that any year I've spent here has been better than any other. As I've changed majors and ideas about what I would do with my life, the one thing that has remained constant has been the fact that I've experienced it all along with other people. I still do . All the same, at the end of every day, the place that I happily return to is my single.

Joelle Laszlo is a junior in Timothy Dwight.

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