Michael Schramm: Little green planets

Today’s designated to celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a day-long shit show where students flock to fraternities. They dance on ledges and take pulls of Crystal Palace while belligerently drunk.

I head to a pregame hosted by my friend. Walking alone, I see a group of friends draped in green clothing. One girl has a green four-leaf clover taped on her cheek. She’s wearing a green shirt and a green tutu covering her pants. A guy is wearing a green cap, green suspenders and a green tank top with a shot glass cup necklace. I see another group of friends. A guy is wearing a white and green tank top, a leprechaun hat and green pants. He’s throwing Lucky Charms at a girl in a green snapback and green shorts. She eats them as her eyes glaze over, overly intoxicated. Everyone’s homogenous. Everyone looks the same.

I walk faster to my friend’s house. I arrive and head upstairs. We quickly pound a few rounds in order to head out quickly.

We head to the nearest frat party. I enter an open space divided by friends interacting within their circles. Everyone’s wearing similar green outfits and talking only to their friends. They’re like little planets, and I revolve around them until I’m at the center, asking for a drink.

I continue revolving with the green planets around the green grass in the backyard. I see two planets collide as two girls recognize each other. They look so happy interacting. Then they head back to their planets, continuing the same pattern, continuing to revolve, halfheartedly amused.

I see one of my friends. She’s dancing on a ledge, so I join her. We find more friends and continue dancing. But we’re not really dancing. There’s not enough room on the ledge. We resort to compact motions.

I’m happy to be with my friends. We break out of our little planet to take a picture. It’s nice. We’re all smiling. But the smiles are deceptive. When that picture gets posted to Facebook, people will think that I spent the whole day ecstatic at these parties. At least, that’s what I think when I see those pictures on my newsfeed. The reality is that I’m only happy to be with my friends, and I’d be much happier if I was with the same people in a different context. A context that’s more my style, like a house party, at a bar or chilling at my house.

I’m still on a ledge dancing with my friends, but the monotony from performing the same motion is getting old. I look around. On the sidewalk I see dozens of green people, pulsating through the grid of downtown Ann Arbor, looking for the right party to revolve around, looking for a place to belong. I look to my right and see a guy tugging on a girl’s wrist, trying to get her to leave the party. She looks flustered. She wants to stay here. I watch the scene until it ends to make sure she’s okay, and I proceed to watch her rejoin her planet.

I continue looking around and see everyone dancing on the ledge. I’m met with a dozen faces plastered with a dozen shades of fabricated enthusiasm. Perhaps I’m being too presumptuous, but almost no one looks like they’re having the kind of fun that warrants standing outside in 40-degree weather, wearing eclectic green clothing.

I stop and take a look at myself. I’m wearing a pair of bright green pants and a headband that I purchased for last year’s partying. I’m nothing more than a component of a planet revolving around the system.

I can’t help but ask myself, “Why?”

Why do I commit myself to attending these parties at places where I clearly don’t belong? Why do I convince myself that I’m having fun to justify attending again? Why do I go out of my way to wear stupid clothing to look like everyone else? If it’s genuinely to avoid the fear of missing out, how much of a coward am I that I can’t disassociate from a system I don’t love?

I’m sure that some people are having fun at St. Patrick’s Day darties. I do see stares of genuine excitement, and I’m sure not everyone I perceive as bored actually is bored.

But I see too many people looking unamused to think it’s just me, and I text too many friends after these events only hearing about lackluster experiences. Why do we so easily succumb to being little green toys in a little green backyard revolving around our little green planets when this isn’t what we want to do? The homogeneity and ridiculousness would make sense if everyone gushed with fun, but that doesn’t appear likely.

Getting into this school means someone thought you were special. I’m not saying that to brag; it’s a reality. To get here, admissions officers holistically evaluated you and thought, “Wow, that person is both smart and unique enough to be here.” So why is untethering from these uninteresting, conforming traditions so challenging for so many of us?

I don’t have an answer. Do you?

Michael Schramm can be reached at mschramm@umich.edu.