The craziness of rooming is upon us. Perhaps the biggest question is whether or not you'll snag that window seat or River view; maybe you're just so extraordinarily excited to have a single that you can't think of anything else. I hear you on that one. It's quite possible you still love your roommates. Maybe you've never walked up to your door mumbling under your breath how much you hope no one's home.

Last month, I answered the phone convinced the caller was messing with me when she began politely, "I'm doing a survey on rooming at Harvard. Have you had any problems this year? Last year? The year before?" "Yes, yes and yes," I replied. "Oh. Almost everybody says that." Sure. I was left asking myself for the millionth time, "How have I lived with these girls, my friends, for almost three years and yet we just can't talk to each other anymore?" I thought about the unvoiced tension, how we became experts in ignoring each other. I got to a point when I knew it had to be me. And then realized it wasn't any of us. I started having fun with other people and so did they. I stopped being angry. I just wondered what the heck I was going to do next year.

Last week, my House tutor informed me that floating is far from the rare practice I thought it was. But who exactly are these floaters? Maybe it would be better to stay where I am--we've made it through three years together. Some tough times, sure, but it now seems okay. It can't get any worse, right?

However, as I asked myself (and everybody who listened), what about better than okay? What about hoping the door to your suite's already unlocked-- not because you forgot your key--but because you'd genuinely love to see your roommates and tell them about your day, hear about theirs, chill in the common room in a silence that feels good, comfortable, relaxing. Remembering what that felt like, I decided that I deserve a new chance. I can float. I've found my decision meant a lot of myths to debunk.

(1) Everybody else is incredibly happy in their rooming situation.

Oh, the stories I could tell. Stories I never knew till I asked: why people transferred, grew apart, don't speak--every conceivable reason for wanting to start over with new folks. Start listening and suddenly you're struggling to find anyone who hasn't ever considered moving out.

(2) It's better for everyone if you just shut up and hope for the best.

No, no and no again. It may seem harsh, but you need to think about what you can and can't live with. If you want a saying that's true, here's one: People change, but not that much. Stuff that's bugging you now won't simply disappear. Deciding to change rooms doesn't have to equal a final rejection. It can be the opportunity to spend time together because you want to.

(3) Your roommates need to be your best buddies.

Freshman year, there were two groups of people in my life--those who shared my passion to help the world and those I partied with (my roommates). I kept wondering, "Where are the people who do both?" But they were right there once I challenged myself to get to know them a little better. The people I love and value most became the ones who help kids and families with me, challenge and inspire me. They're the people who write me 10 e-mails a day, sign them "love" and remember to ask about my date last weekend or what's going on with my family. It was strange and wonderful to look across a bar table and see five fellow volunteers in a completely new context. I've realized that people surprise each other in negative and positive ways. At the same time, I remembered how terrific it can be to come home to roommates who are incredibly different, to avoid becoming immersed in my self-contained world.

(4) The evil you know is a whole lot less scary than the evil you don't.

After a while, I could no longer rationalize my fear of entering that scary senior floater realm, not if it meant the chance to have something much better. So I sucked up that pride and e-mailed a couple of people who've shared my House for nearly two years, girls I'd smiled at daily but never really talked to. I found people I was really excited about talking to. I also got two names that revealed nothing more than that slip I received before freshman year--a little scary but mostly exciting. They might be dorky, obnoxious or obsessive. Most likely, they'll be fun, tolerant and easygoing. No matter what, it's going to get better. We're beginning together, a little wiser this time, minus all that resentment, disappointment and tension.

Future roommates might not have similar partying styles or sleep schedules, might not share a desire to spend 40 hours a week building family programs or playing tennis. But they also might care about what you do, ask questions about it once in a while, or just give you a big hug when you want to celebrate or need to let go, prevent you from toppling over into emotional chaos. If you've had a semester of thinking that might be impossible, let yourself believe it might be possible. Ask yourself how great it could feel. If you floated.

Tiger Edwards '01 is a psychology concentrator in Winthrop House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.