Today I walk on Middle Path, sensing the steps the Venezuelan opposition leader left behind in ’93.
It admittedly took time to appreciate the simple, wistful sounds of Kenyon in the fall. But it is something I undoubtedly do not regret lending an ear to.
It’s hard to ignore how much there is to be thankful for, especially at Kenyon this year.
There is something uniquely independent in being able to go check for your own, personal mail at an old-timey Post Office, and I love it.
My friends teased me for meeting with the Career Development Office so frequently, but to my delight, I was able to have the last laugh when I found an internship.