Most all of us can remember where we were when COVID-19 officially changed our lives. There were rumors about severity and speculations about consequences for weeks, but I understand there to be a specific instance in the minds of everyone that marks the moment when all of it became real.

I was sitting in a classroom in KTSA during what was supposed to be my last design class before the start of spring break. Our class of 31 students was all crowded around the front of the room critiquing the midterm projects that hung on the wall. A few weeks earlier, our professor strolled into class a few minutes late and told everyone to stop what we were doing. He pointed to a corner of the room where he had placed brand new cleaning supplies and explained to us that he was afraid of the disease that was on the news and that we all now needed to clean our stations before and after class. We smiled at his seemingly paranoid instructions and I chuckled to the person sitting two feet away from me. But then, just a few weeks later in that exact same classroom, one of my peers interrupted our midterm critique to say “we got the email.” We all knew what she was referring to without any more information. Our professor told her to read it out loud and we all listened as she began to read President Wippman’s email. At that moment I thought that email affected the length and activity of my spring break, and perhaps the remainder of my freshman year. Now, I understand that moment in design class to mark the beginning of the COVID-19 saga that continues through the second half of my sophomore year.

We have all lived with COVID-19 and its many life-altering symptoms for just over a year now. What began with ominous emails and month-long mandatory “stay at home orders,” is now reflected in almost every aspect of our day-to-day lives. We put on a mask every time we leave the house. We don’t attend concerts, family reunions, or even class. We keep track of our temperatures and read into every cough, sneeze, and scratchy throat. We keep our social circles small with the possibility of being contact traced always looming over our heads. While we have perhaps warmed up to safety precautions, there is no denying that there are very few features of life that continue today unfazed by COVID-19.

However, there seems to be a light at the end of this wildly disorienting tunnel. The summer weather promises a decrease in the spread and, most importantly, the three vaccines promise the safety and protection we have all missed. As we all wait for our turn to get the vaccine or wait for the fortification of our second dose, aspects of our lives have begun to go back to what they were almost a year ago. I am energized by the idea of seeing my parents without the fear of unknowingly endangering them and meeting beloved professors for the first time in person.

But even as I look forward to the reclamation of life, I fear that we have permanently lost seemingly trivial traditions that gave life on the Hill the comforting character I have always valued. Beyond just attending in-person classes and meeting up with friends, I want to return to the once established logistical operations of Hamilton that have since been streamlined because of the pandemic.

With an unusual and unexpected level of fondness, I remember my first time attempting to drop a class at Hamilton. As a Jan fresh off the plane from London, I was frantically attempting to settle into and survive life on campus. In the confusing bliss of London, I had excitedly signed myself up for “Gender and Violence in the Middle Ages,” a class that met three times a week on the second floor of Root. While I came into the class with an open mind, I was quickly drowning in and disenchanted by the dense biblical readings assigned to us. I knew that I needed to drop the class. But I just wasn’t quite sure how to. After consulting with a few of my fellow Jans, I started the long and unsure walk down the hill to what I understood to be the registrar’s office. I knew it was one of the houses halfway down the hill, but no one was able to provide specifics. The wind was whipping into my face and every step I took was saturated in the nervousness of a lost Jan. After walking embarrassingly close to the Philip Spencer House, I made it to the warmth and coziness of the registrar’s office.

The floor of the house creaked beneath me as I approached the desk and the women were busily working atop a patchwork of Victorian rugs. I felt as though I had walked into a true home for the first time since arriving on campus. One woman took my physical “Add/Drop Sheet” and warmly explained to me the next sheets of paper I would need and the next steps I would need to take. She told me I was all set and told me to have a great rest of my day. I left the registrar’s office and walked my way back up the Hill to Dunham with a sense of accomplishment only a fearful freshman can feel.

Because of COVID-19, the Add/Drop process has become one that is solely online. In the last year, not one student, young or old, has walked down the Hill to the registrar’s office with a half sheet of paper dangling from their hands. Instead, we fill out a form explaining our preferred class online and receive an automated response email. Furthermore, students no longer have to brave the humiliating reality of simply showing up to a class they are not in and begging the professor to sign their Add/Drop form. The streamlining of COVID-19 has rid our campus of invaluable groveling.

The automation of the registration process is only one example of a far larger trend that has occurred as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. Seemingly trivial, and oftentimes informal, experiences of traditional college life on the Hill have been wiped out by safety precautions. Students are no longer able to stand in line for Diner while having silly and yet essential conversations with the staff of Diner; the banter amongst students and Diner staff is a daily highlight and right of passage for all Hamilton Students. The current GrubHub ordering system prevents this. Swarms of students no longer all crowd inside of the whimsical Events Barn and powerlessly wait for their housing number to be called; a group Zoom call and group-allotted online sign-up window cannot recreate the buzz of the old housing selection.

I hope that as our world goes back to normal in the coming months, we will be intentional in our decisions to allow certain logistical operations to return to what they once were. While technological streamlining allows for convenience, the power of a small liberal arts college lies in the unintentional, seemingly trivial traditions that occur in the day-to-day lives of students.