Everyone had their reasons for being at Geneseo. For many it reprised the lines and chords that their parents or siblings had gone through in a suburban environment: a Wegmans fifteen minutes away, mom-and pop shops nearby, a pleasurable tension of knowing your neighbors’ business.
I came for the money and the breathing space; quite literally the AQI was way better up here and I wouldn’t feel like a sardine in my classroom. I didn’t have to worry about not having a seat if I arrived late to class. The little things were forgiven: pauses were made and small talk seemed much more earnest without the competition for space, time, and attention. I didn’t have to rush in or be forced to grab a chair elsewhere for my spot.
On walks to the arboretum, I’d be met with a similar sweet opening and sour end. Initially—sweet like the taste of hot apple cider from Red Jacket—my view was more expansive the higher up the hill I went. Without metropolitan smog, my clarity and progression of thoughts modeled the twilight sky. Celestial concepts inhabited my headspace during frequent five-minute walks between commitments. I was a part of a larger, starry movement tracking the inhale and exhale of the campus day. Like lining up for metaphase, there was an ease in becoming the common Geneseo student—motivated, multifaceted, and driven. Still, I felt power in this reprieve at the arboretum; somehow I thought I’d get some sort of break from the buzz in a manmade forest, away from all of my manufactured problems. It was always humbling, though, to dance around Genesee beer cans amid thoughts of my own right to a claim a place here and the legacy I would want to leave. —Jess