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.

