“Comps,” as we call them at Kenyon, are a rite of passage, a trial by fire through which every senior must pass before they graduate. And the students who perform best aren’t the ones who memorize, but the ones who learn.
At Kenyon, I began to question more than argue, to reflect on my motivations, to focus on what words like happiness, virtue and friendship mean and how they’re inseparable from each other.
Around every corner, I found some new delight. I saw Cleveland with Kenyon eyes, and found warmth in an unfamiliar place.
I turned my back on the hustle and bustle, left the steel and stop lights, and slowed down from an urban pace. I learned to walk in step with village life.
I want to get around by getting grease on my hands, to lubricate the chain, and mind the oil. I want to work, to learn the mechanical art.