Opinion

JENNIFER CALFAS

EDITOR IN CHIEF

AARICA MARSH

and DEREK WOLFE

EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS

LEV FACHER

MANAGING EDITOR

420 Maynard St.

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at

the University of Michigan since 1890.

Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s editorial board.

All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Monday, November 16, 2015

Alone or on my own?

I

strongly
dislike
labels.
In

high school, my mother once
offhandedly remarked that I

was an introvert,
prompting
a

lot of negative
feelings
on

my
part.
An

introvert
is

someone
who

gets his or her
energy
from

being
alone,

something I saw
as
distinctly

negative.

While I spent

a lot of time by
myself in high school, I was appalled
that anyone would believe I was
spending my Friday nights at home
to “recharge my batteries.” My alone
time in high school arose not from
a desire for “me time,” but from a
lack of connection with the people
planning the fun nights out. I resolved
to disprove my mother’s comment by
seeking out as many social connections
as possible in college.

In hindsight, this determination to

prove my extroversion was laughable.
It turns out that when given a choice, I
really do love being on my own.

Freshman year, I was so worried

about being lonely at such a large
university that I clung to the people
I met. While we initially shared the
common factor of being first-year
students trying to navigate a new
experience, it soon became painfully
obvious that we shared little in the
way of values, goals or personalities.

With no emotional connection

to speak of, I began to feel extreme
loneliness
despite
constantly

surrounding myself with friends.
Nevertheless, I held onto these tenuous
connections because I was terrified of
what might happen if I were to let go.
What if there was no one at Michigan

with whom I could genuinely connect?
Would I go back to being the girl who
spent her Friday nights alone?

The thought of being alone worried

me so much that I began to develop a
fear of abandonment. I overanalyzed
every text I received, convinced that
each person was planning to walk out
of my life. FOMO — or fear of missing
out — became another huge concern
of mine, and soon every picture from
every close friend posted to Facebook
without my presence seemed to
confirm that the worst had happened.

I voiced my constant anxiety

until my fears became a self-
fulfilling prophecy for my life:
The more I mulled over my
abandonment conspiracy theories,
the more I dragged down the group
dynamic and the less my friends
wanted to spend
time with me.

This year, I

finally
decided

to conquer my
insecurities
by
seeking

opportunities
to do things on
my own. Rather
than
plan
my

days
around

friends’ busy schedules so that I
wouldn’t have to eat or study alone, I
began to plan my days around what
I wanted to accomplish. Despite
having
fewer
guaranteed
social

connections throughout my week,
I’m now the happiest I have been in
three years. With no one to please,
answer to or worry about but myself,
I’m finding the courage to become
the person I always wanted to be. I’m
rediscovering my passions for singing
and writing, both of which I gave up as
a freshman because none of my friends
shared these interests. I’m gaining
a better sense of self, purpose and
lifelong aspirations. My worries about

loneliness have subsided.

For me, the key to being on my

own without feeling lonely has been
embracing the communities I’m
part of. My biggest social support
system to date has come from fellow
Residence Staff members in my
building. Rather than cling to each
staff member, I treat everyone like I
would a cherished family member.
They aren’t necessarily my best
friends, but they are the people I
come home to at the end of the day,
eager to ask how I’m doing. They
are the people who cheer me on, let
me know that I matter and remind
me that I am loved. Their constant
support gives me the self-assurance
to spend a few hours of the day on
my own without ever feeling alone.

These days, I fully embrace the

Friday
nights

I get to spend
by myself. Who
wouldn’t
want

to curl up in bed
and watch Netflix
after a long week
of studying and
interacting with
residents?
My

attitude
has

changed
since

high school, because this time I have a
choice as to how I spend my weekends.
If I want to be social on a Friday night,
I can sit in my hall’s lounge, mass-text
my staff or walk to my community
center. If I want to recharge my
batteries and be by myself, there’s no
shame in that either.

Though the label of “introvert” still

irks me due to its oversimplification of
the human experience, I can now say
that when given a choice, I proudly,
confidently and unabashedly love
being on my own.

— Annie Humphrey can be

reached at annieah@umich.edu.

ANNIE

HUMPHREY

The weight of my Catholic education

NATALIE ZAK | VIEWPOINT

I am the product of 14 years of

Catholic education. From pre-K
to my senior year of high school,
I took required religion classes
that ranged from Rebuttal of the
Big Bang to Commitment or Die
Alone, attended monthly school-
wide masses that always ended in
at least one girl passing out and was
incessantly urged to incorporate
the ideals of Catholicism into my
not-so-Catholic lifestyle.

Beginning at the tender age of 3,

I became familiar with the burden
of Catholic guilt, and by the final
year of my all-girls high school,
had become acclimated to it.
However, despite this specialized
type of academia, I didn’t confront
the truth of my spirituality until
arriving on campus in September: I
barely qualify as Catholic.

I may be able to recite the

Apostles’ Creed by heart, but I
didn’t actually know that’s what
the hymn is called before looking
it up two seconds ago (the browser
tab is literally still open). Until
the age of 13, I could mindlessly
recite biblical responses, but then
the Vatican decided to slightly
modify them, and I never bothered
to learn the differences. The book
of Exodus and the “Passion of
the Christ” were ingrained into
my head, and I can still be called
upon to regurgitate them when
asked. But none of this makes me a
dedicated member of the Catholic
faith, and since arriving at the
University, I have met people with
half the exposure to Christianity
as me, yet have twice the passion,
three times the spirituality and
four times the friends (whether
that is religion’s or my personality’s
fault is irrelevant).

Never before have I interacted

with so many different faiths at
once. Sure, a large percentage
of my Catholic high school was
Protestant, and a smaller, more
noticeable percentage Jewish, but

that was it. If anything, the student
body left the school more religiously
diverse than it was coming in:
There definitely weren’t as many
declared atheists my freshman year
as there were my senior year. It was
a mass religious conversion of born
and bred Catholics to nonbelievers.

At the University, I have talked

to students about faiths ranging
from Hinduism to Evangelical
Christianity, and I can’t help but
notice an overarching trend in
the people who demonstrate a
compelling faith. Out of all the
individuals I have met, those who
share my background of lengthy
Catholic
education
seem
most

likely to distance themselves from
the faith, or simply give up on it.

In his standup act “Catholic

School
Sunglasses,”
comedian

Mike Birbiglia adeptly describes
the effects of Catholic education,
saying, “You can always tell who
went to Catholic school as kids
because they’re atheists. Because
they really beat it out of you.”
Those who have not are the ones
who regularly attend church, a feat
incomprehensible to me, yet easily
practiced by many. Oddly, I can’t
help but feel jealous and slightly
intimidated by their passion and
drive, while also feeling exhausted
by most church-related activities.

In my English class, there’s a

boy who, on the first day, humbly
expressed how God is a major part
of his life and how he recognizes
and accepts all the love God has
to give. Being the open-minded
individual I am, I dismissed him
almost
immediately.
But
now,

several weeks later, I have talked
with him on numerous occasions
and have grown to reluctantly
respect, even slightly envy, this
student’s incredible spirituality.
He overflows with kindness and
modesty, carries a Bible at all
times and makes everyone (and
by everyone I mean me) question

their perpetual cynicism, all while
never having experienced a day of
Christian education.

I can’t help but wonder what

causes this discrepancy. Christian
education is meant to instill us
with values and faith, and though
I’m left with decent, manageable
values, I can’t say the same for
my faith. Patterns such as these
are noticeable in the students I
have met here. There are those
who rarely attended mass before
arriving at the University, but
now attend it bi-weekly, and
there are others who despite their
previous
distance
from
faith,

now find themselves immersed
in it. Although there’s an instant
lifelong
connection
between

survivors of Catholic education,
these
relationships
are
often

highlighted by an absence of faith
and nihilism.

But maybe I’m being too harsh.

After all, whenever I encounter
someone else who attended a
single-sex Catholic high school,
I’m immediately able to bond with
them. It’s a strange thing to bond
over, a shared bitterness toward the
ritualistic niceties performed daily
at these schools, but it’s bonding
nonetheless.
Catholic
education

has caused my faith to deteriorate,
while
secular
education
has

produced devout Christians far
more spiritual than I could ever
hope to be.

Despite
this
realization,
I

can’t help but acknowledge that a
Catholic education provided me
with a stellar education, regardless
of the number of Bible passages I
memorized to fulfill it. My back
might still be a little sore from
carrying
this
heavy
Catholic

guilt, but it’s nothing a deep tissue
massage and years of therapy can’t
fix. When it comes down to it, I’m
doing all right.

Natalie Zak is an LSA Freshman.

Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala,

Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm,

Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

FROM THE DAILY

Raising the bar

Bystander intervention education necessary for bar employees
G

ov. Rick Snyder recently awarded $500,000 to fund sexual
assault prevention initiatives at universities across the
state. Under the Campus Sexual Assault Grant Program,

the University will receive $20,000 to fund an initiative called Raise
the Bar. In partnership with Wolverine Wellness and the Ann Arbor
Campus Community Coalition, the University will create a program
that teaches employees at local bars how to spot and prevent potential
cases of sexual assault. Some might question if bystander intervention
should be geared more toward the University community, but the
overall idea presents a fresh lens in combatting sexual assault on
campus. Targeting bystander intervention programs toward specific
populations, such as bar employees, is a necessary step toward
decreasing the likelihood of sexual assault in the state, in the Ann
Arbor community and at the University.

Raise the Bar is one of many measures

in place that attempts to create a culture of
bystander intervention against sexual assault
on campus. Oftentimes, bystanders find it hard
to intervene when another person is involved
in a dangerous situation, such as potential
sexual assault. However, if that bystander is
an employee, there might be a bigger obligation
to keep the environment safe for all customers.
Through the nature of their job, staff members
at bars are aware of their surroundings, which
makes them obvious candidates for stopping
and preventing sexual assault. If all staff have
to go through an intervention program, the
consequences of sexual assault will be made
even more apparent and thereby highlight the
need to prevent it.

While many sexual assault prevention

initiatives are directed at students, Raise
the Bar charges members of the Ann Arbor
community to assist in keeping students
and other community members safe. Bars
such as Rick’s American Cafe or Charley’s,
two that are frequented by University
students, are often staffed by both students
and non-students. Therefore, sexual assault
prevention and awareness knowledge among
bar employees varies.

Recently, there has been a lot of attention

placed on preventing sexual assault at
Greek life events like fraternity parties, but
ignoring bars would be a huge oversight.
Bars and fraternity parties often have similar
atmospheres, and it would be naive to think
sexual assault is restricted to this setting.
According to a study by the Center for Science
in the Public Inerest, students tend to drink

more at fraternity parties due to the copious
amounts of free alcohol available. However,
the study also notes that more students
frequent campus bars than fraternity parties.
This highlights the importance of bystander
training among bartenders at these Ann
Arbor establishments.

The University of Iowa and the University

of North Carolina are two colleges that
have implemented Raise the Bar in their
communities. So far, the results have generally
been positive. Though there’s a lack of
quantitative data, management and employees
at several establishments have found the
training helpful and would recommend the
program to others. In Iowa, Susan Junis,
Rape Victim Advocacy Program education
coordinator, believes it would be beneficial to
tie bystander intervention to a business’ alcohol
license. The University and state of Michigan
should consider a similar initiative. This
would not only incentivize bars to participate
in the program, but also implement a uniform
bystander intervention education among bar
employees across the state.

Bar culture hasn’t always been known for

having the safest atmosphere, but programs
like Raise the Bar can help change this.
Bartenders often act as leaders within a given
bar, regulating what is or is not OK in that
space. If employees are known for having a
strong stance against sexual assault, customers
will follow suit. Everyone has the responsibility
of preventing sexual assault, and giving people
the tools to spot and intervene in such situations
can only contribute to a safer environment for
all students at the University.

Typewriters, spiders and contentment

EVA ROOS | VIEWPOINT

I stared down at my motionless hands, curled

in ready position. I noticed how each fingertip
perfectly filled the circular keys of Papersmith,
my favorite typewriter. Papersmith printed
small letters with impeccable accuracy and a
rich inky print, both which I now confidently
deemed superior qualities, having spent the
last six weeks learning the personalities of the
family of similar typewriters. They all lived in
the same chilly, quiet, wood-paneled space. The
single-pane windows were streaked with fresh,
cool droplets.

Tilting my head to the right, past the

sopping beech tree branches which radiated
a luscious, wet green, I could spot the dining
hall, wood pile, library and lake which blended
into the low hanging clouds. I tucked my
orange striped fleece blanket tight around my
legs, pulled my wooly hat strings down further
towards my lap and turned a black knob click-
by-click to reel in my blank page. How on earth
was I to begin writing a graduation speech
to culminate the New England Literature
Program — commonly called NELP — the
ending of something that seemed too idyllic to
acknowledge it ever begun?

I would have thought that distraction

couldn’t exist in a space where I had no phone,
no laptop, no iPod, no technology at all. But if
there’s one thing I learned during that spring
semester in the woods of New Hampshire
at NELP, it’s that absolutely everything
is deserving of my curiosity. Though I sat
numbed by the daunting task which I had no
solution to, I suddenly unbound my legs from
my blanket, and scurried over to the adjacent
wall. My friend Eric called my attention to our
version of breaking news — there was a spider

in the windowsill.

He and I crouched low, lit by a subtle

afternoon glow fading in through the glass.
Our breath fogged the panes as we watched
with eager eyes the delicate angled legs
which converged at a balloon-like sandy
body, topped with an amber head. The spider
lay as still as I had been seconds earlier
seated in front of Papersmith. It was simply
existing, watching, waiting. And we were
too. We observed it, placed so buoyantly
on its knitted web. Its home was precisely
constructed, with every intersection intact
and unbroken. I wondered about its legs.
How could appendages so long and delicate
be used and placed with such accuracy? Are
they not difficult to keep track of? How does
it know the exact patterns to knit its silk?

Because of my former dream to become

an entomologist, I knew we were looking
at an American house spider, which is
exactly what it sounds like — the small silent
crawlers that exist in almost every American
basement. Not only is it incredibly common,
but this particular spider was not necessarily
doing anything phenomenal, or really doing
anything at all. And yet we continued to
survey it for minutes, fascinated. Sometimes
voicing an observation, yet mostly, Eric and
I watched in comfortable silence, taking in
its perfection through dialogue contained
within our heads. I felt like I could look
forever and never understand that spider in
its entirety. If I traced each intricacy with my
eyes, would I remember its patterns?

Finally
recognizing
that
we
should

continue
writing
on
our
respective

typewriters, Eric seated in front of the muted

blue Lois Lane, I suddenly laughed
with a pang of realization. Never
would this moment have happened
last semester, seated in the crowded,
laptop-filled, air-sealed study space
that is the UGLi. This is not to say
that American house spiders do not
exist there, because they probably
do. But would any of my friends
have noticed if one appeared? And
if it were spotted, would they care?
Would I have cared? Or would my
eyes be drawn back to screens of
all sizes, directed instead towards
Internet
tabs
and
incoming


text messages?

At
NELP,
I
relearned
to

see. Whether it was spiders in
windowsills,
light
streaming

through beech leaves, a crackling
fire in a wood stove or my own
hands as I waited for them to
begin punching letters, I felt like I
was seeing it all for the first time.
Looking back now at the six weeks
I spent in New Hampshire, it shocks
me how little I needed in order
to feel fully content in any given
moment. Before, did I walk blindly,
never truly understanding where,
or what, I was?

What I don’t know is everywhere,

and if I observe long enough, I now
know I can begin to find out.

The
New
England
Literature

Program is a nine-credit experience
during spring semester, located on
Lake Winnipesaukee in the woods
of New Hampshire. For six weeks,
students live and learn in a tight-knit
community of 40 undergraduates,
immersed
in
reading,
writing,

thinking
and
the
surrounding

environment. Learn more about
NELP and the application process,
and listen to the accounts of this
year’s NELPers at the informational
meeting on Tuesday, Nov. 17 at 7 p.m.
in Auditorium D at Angell Hall.

Eva Roos is an Art & Design senior.

With no one to please
but myself, I’m finding


the courage to become

the person I always

wanted to be.