There are two kinds of people: those who just loved high school, and the rest of us.

I write this blog about my x*%$@th reunion last weekend, just as a whole new generation is about to make the transition from high school to university, in this case, the University of Utah.

Chances are, more of you are bearing wounds of ‘slings and arrows’ from your time in high school than carrying a backpack full of sunny memories that will keep you warm and cheery all the way to the nursing home.

I’m here to save you some time. Don’t take any “wounds” you received—real or imagined—personally. Don’t lug those feelings of rejection, spite, loneliness, inferiority, etc etc  (it’s a long list) with you into the future. And for the minority who truly felt loved, cared for, appreciated and involved (a much shorter list): Don’t hog the spotlight, go spread it around.

That’s because despite the images, myths and the successful movie musicals, high school is simply a building. But it is a structure where 15 to 18 years olds—already biologically confused, hormonal, anxious, rebellious, peppy and gawky—get thrown together in large numbers under the guise of learning higher math and handing down civilization’s traditions. In the ensuing chaos, it is not a surprise that damaging hierarchies quickly sort people out, with or without adult supervision. In truth, it’s something of a miracle that kids live through the experience. Tragically some don’t. Sadly, many more bear psychological scars that affect how they grow into adults.

I’ve just come from the future, and for your benefit and everlasting gratitude, I will tell you how one version of this movie ends.

The handsome football captain and all-around hero—is so fat he waddles. The peppy cheerleader, smiling everywhere in the yearbook—is still impossibly wealthy, but looks inexorably sad. The lovely, popular girl who wed early and joyfully and then had ten children—is divorced. The nerd—is creative, expansive and genuinely successful. The talented jock who callously took advantage of your naïve affection—is kind and honestly apologetic.

The remaining legions—the quiet, average, pretty much anonymous kids—lived lives. They schooled, travelled, wed, built careers, businesses, families, communities. Some also got fat, wealthy, sad, divorced. A few failed, but most succeeded, in one fashion or another.

In short, life happened to all of us, whether or not we were “popular” in that eyeblink of adolescence.

Except for the 44 whose chances ended. The list of those who succumbed–to lung cancer, melanoma, infections, accidents, got caught in a convenience store robbery gone awry, jogged off the trail, or committed suicide–started in 1972 and is just getting longer.

So my advice to you, incoming freshmen of the University of Utah, is not original, but it is sound:
“Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the ones who treat you right. Love the ones who don’t just because you can. If you get a second chance, grab it with both hands. If it changes your life, let it. Believe everything happens for a reason. Kiss slowly. Forgive quickly.”

Welcome to your new home. Let this be your first second chance. Step up to the plate and swing for the fences. Life is rich and full, if only you let it be.

There are many ways to arrive on campus and assimilate into your home for the next four years.

As for me some decades ago, I went Greyhound from Salt Lake to Bellingham, Washington with two huge cardboard boxes. A cab dropped me and goods at the dorm. When I started to unpack all my worldly possessions I discovered I hadn’t thought to bring hangers. In a moment that could have been a humiliating disaster, I became instant, life-long friends with my brand-new roommate. Arriving by station wagon from eastern Washington, she had more hangers than clothes. Lucky for me.

Another way to arrive would be to camp under a full moon in Big Cottonwood Canyon with 27 strangers, like the final group of the U’s incoming freshmen who chose the 4-day “Outdoor Orientation” option last week.

They not only learned the ropes of campus life—they used ropes to ascend the sheer quartzite cliffs of Storm Mountain.

They prepared and shared Dutch-oven lasagna and Dutch-oven peach cobbler after a rousing game of “Peasant.” They trekked through the woods and up the ridge for an inspiring view of Wolverine Cirque. They experienced the intimate coordination of smooth paddling on the Weber River. There were no hangers involved, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that some life-long friendships were begun during this very Utah experience.

It was bittersweet watching them get to know each other over KP duty, breathing in the unbelievable scenery and beginning to shed their old lives—marked with a Bethel PA t-shirt or a Texas hat—and transforming into red-clad Utah fans.

But in the 19 minutes it took me to drive back to campus, I realized why this orientation is so special. Whether you came from Tyrol Basin, Wisconsin, Anchorage, Alaska or Centerville, Utah, your introduction to the place where you’ll study biomedicine, political science and creative writing began in one of the most beautiful, rugged, inspiring, panoramic and transforming landscapes on earth. And that just has to affect the way you study, make friends, live.

At the U, you’ll always be 19 minutes from paradise.  Where else can you say that?

Old school illumination.

Ever notice the skinny lampposts across campus with the bulbous glass bowls on top?  Ever wonder how well they do their job (let alone who picked out such an ordinary-looking piece of hardware that fits with exactly none of the various architectural styles on campus)?  Well, I did, after noticing that they were dropping like flies, and sleek, black downlights were popping up in their places.

According to Archie Phillips, architect for the U’s Campus Design and Construction department, the dreadful-looking fixtures (my adjective, not Archie’s), affectionately referred to as the “lollipops,” probably date from the 1950s, are inefficient, costly, tricky to maintain, and—worst of all—direct the bulk of their light up into the night sky.  There are two problems with that.  First, they do not perform their primary purpose, which is pathway illumination.  Second, their upward glare contributes to light pollution, a serious yet easily corrected environmental hazard.

I first learned about light pollution on a visit to Swaner Nature Preserve in Park City for a star gazing party (highly recommended event; check their webpage for calendar:  www.swanerecocenter.org).  Even though Park City has a “dark sky” zoning ordinance, I was amazed to see the disturbing amount of ambient light coming from uncovered house windows, McDonald’s signs and even car headlights that reached well beyond the half mile we’d walked into the meadow for observation.  Not only does light overflow obscure our ability to see the wonders of the night sky, it messes up migration and mating habits of nocturnal creatures.  Who knew?

Well, lots of folks it turns out, including the astronomers in the U’s physics department.  They were one of the first groups to take aim at the “lollipops” because their light interferes with viewing from the roof-top observatory (another aside for more fun stuff to do:  web.utah.edu/astro/).  They even offered to paint the tops of the globes to stop the light leaks. 

Shine a light on me.

Fortunately, that stopgap solution was not needed. And, I learned, the U has instituted a new campus standard.  Any lights on campus—new or replaced—must be dark sky compliant.  Hence the new fixtures seen around South Physics, the Field House, College of Law, UNMH and probably to a walkway near you soon.  “Seen” is relative.  The color black was chosen for the new fixtures so that poles and lamps would better blend into landscape and architecture.

In addition to directing light down, where it’s needed, optics with metal halide bulbs appear much brighter, and the posts can be set further apart.  The bulbs last longer, and when the next generation of LED bulbs is used for replacements, they’ll last 3-4 times longer. The fixtures fit on existing poles, and are also capable of working on either of the two voltage systems that run the electrical grid on campus, eliminating one more headache as the U operations strive to become evermore environmentally sound and sustainable.

You can learn more about the issues and solutions to light pollution from the International Dark-Sky Association and New England Light Pollution Advisory Group www.darksky.org and www.cfa.harvard.edu/nelpag/nelpagphilos.html.)