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.