I still remember the first time my parents and I drove into Harvard Square. Multitudes of teenagers hung outside of the T-stop, smoking, talking and making comments as people walked by. Studying them from the car window, I was sure they fore-shadowed the excitement of Cambridge.

I suppose I was young and in love with the idea that college could be passionately exciting. An innovate thought, to be sure. But when I saw all those teenagers, I just assumed I would have as good a time as they appeared to.

As a sophomore, I've already had the full experience of being a first-year at Harvard. I can proclaim that it differed greatly from my utopian hope. It wasn't just that it wasn't as much fun. It was learning how to adapt to circumstances.

Just the other day I caught sight of the Au Bon Pain Man, a figure who brought me much embarrassment and pain in my first-year. He stands in front of Au Bon Pain and hands flyers out to pedestrians, (not to be confused with Bank Man, who stands outside of Cambridge Savings Bank and attempts to shove flyers into people's noses).

The first time I saw and heard this man, I thought he was so cool. He made people feel special when they walked by. He was the first person in Cambridge to say, "Hello, pretty woman, how are you today?" to me. What a welcome I thought I had! Imagine my dismay when I realized that I was not the only "pretty" woman whom he greeted so kindly. This fall, I mastered a tactic on how to avoid Au Bon Pain Man. Living in Kirkland House, I was initially dismayed at the thought of have to pass right by him three or four times a day. Some careful research taught me that if you stay off the sidewalk and cross the street before you hit the mailbox at the corner of the sidewalk of the fine bakery, you should be able to escape him (though you should beware that sometimes he does do a 180 really fast and catches you anyway).

They say the Union is impersonal. But this year as a sophomore I've found the new process of swiping my I.D. card through an electronic system even more so. Swipe cards may be expediting the process of checking in at meals, but in exchange we've lost all personal interactions with the kitchen workers. Last year, I never had to show my ID with that little sticker on it because Domna in the Union always knew my special number. When I spoke to Roberta at Kirkland House about this new change, she agreed, saying that it didn't allow the workers to get to know the students that easily or that well.

Roberta and I have somehow adapted to this horrid difficulty by introducing ourselves to each other. Roberta has taken the time (however inconvenient it may be for everyone waiting on line) to read off my name from my ID and repeat it aloud so that she remembers it. Likewise, I read the name off of her name tag and so I know hers.

Every morning of my first-year, the sweet and gentle ring of the church bell woke me up for class. I spent much of my time this summer worrying about the absence of these church bells. Next year, what else could possibly wake me?

Who would have imagined that it would be the pleasantly vibrating sound of the large vacuum that shoos away the leaves in Kirkland's courtyard? Fortunately for me, I can sit in my bed, stare at my very decorated ceiling, and meditate to the rhythm of the vacuum thing until my first class.

Then there are the cobblestone streets. Yard walking entails walking freely on the grass or on the nicely even cement. Living in Kirkland has taught me the value of each step. And of each shoe. My clogs have just about had it with the cobblestone. The heels are broken and the front tips are scraped from the numerous times I have tripped on one of the big crevices.

But there's always a solution. Living in Kirkland has not only taught me the value of each step and each shoe, but also the value of my life. I have decided that I should definitely take more risks. Thus, I walk on the street these days to class. I dart cars and bikes and consequently, I arrive at class much more awake from that surge of adrenaline.

Life tosses out many changes. Some of the "little" things are old problems that have stayed the same. Learning to deal with these "little" things only make you a stronger and better people.

It's funny how life has a way of working out.

Nancy Raine Reyes '97 is an occasional contributor to the Opinion page.