For the past four years, I have lived in a bubble. If you are reading this article, I believe you have been, too. In less than a month, my bubble will finally burst with the gentle prodding of a diploma. As I approach the end of my final year at Pepperdine, I have had a certain epiphany. Life in the Malibubble offers the best of both worlds. I would go so far as to say that Pepperdine is both the best and worst school in the country. I won’t claim this as an objective truth, but rather as a personal, subjective one. Over the past few weeks, I have reflected on the unique nature of this cozy institution, and I’m finally ready to make my case for why my time spent here has been worthwhile.
I will never forget my first time on campus. My enthusiasm over getting accepted was lackluster, but I decided to visit. I stepped out of the car at the top of the CCB stairs, staring at the immense ocean, wildflowers, emerald hills, Mediterranean buildings nestled between fields, patios, palm trees and one beautiful girl after another. People had told me Pepperdine was a Christian school, but what I was witnessing was something more: This was heaven.
The immediate, intuitive response I had about Pepperdine is one of its greatest assets. We live in a beautiful bubble of shimmering colors and personalities. This college attracts a certain kind of young man and woman: the “big deals” from back home — smart, attractive, exuberant and morally upstanding. Many of these individuals find joy in ordered relationships, the tranquility that emanates from the sea, the warmth of the sun and the love of caring faculty and friends. The bubble is undeniably beautiful.
But it is not perfect. At times, it gets hard to breathe, move around and feel alive within the comfortable confines of the Malibubble. I’ve had my highs and lows at Pepperdine — the paradox that defines what it is to live as a Wave.
The fact of the matter is that at Pepperdine, strong currents of discontent and loneliness lie under the surface of the smiling faces you see around campus. While it may be true, the all-too-common phrase, “so blessed,” should often be replaced by “so stressed.” People feel a need to have it all together here. But as human beings, we simply don’t.
I think this Malibubble phenomenon also generates a certain level of apathy among the student population. Why should I care about the outside world when it doesn’t affect me? We complain about our comically insignificant “first world problems.” And even when our hearts are ignited by a cause for activism, like the Kony 2012 movement that swept through campus like a Malibu wildfire, indifference to the distant squelches such passion.
The closeness of our community lets some fall by the way side. The ReachOUT controversy has made one thing apparent, regardless of what your opinion is about the subject: There are students here who want to feel at home. The “unity” we have found in the Pepperdine community has grown too fast for the “comm” to keep pace. We fail to see what we all have in common. I, too, am guilty of these transgressions.
I think I’ve finally grown too big for this bubble. I have come a long way from my days as a freshman, running from DPS after trying to sneak into the pool or sitting in front of Peppers with a box, bait, rope and a desire to catch a raccoon. I spent a year in South America, where I had to come close to losing my life when robbed or biking down a narrow, Andean road to realize how much I really valued it. I’ve read (and pretended to read) thousands of pages by authors, past and present, whose work constitutes Western thought. I have run around campus in my underwear. I have endless stories of fraternal life. I’ve sat through hours of mind-numbing (but occasionally meaningful) convocations. I’ve wrestled with God on a daily basis, in a constant challenging fortification, and questioning of faith. In short, I’ve lived a colorful existence in the confines of the Malibubble.
What we experience here at Pepperdine is so unique, so enriching and for lack of a better word, so bubbly, that our time here is binding, unforgettable and truly priceless. This summation of experiences and encounters is worth far more than the information we glean from lectures or textbooks, which can probably be found on the Internet anyway. This process of socialization, with faculty and other students, unites us all and can, at times, tear us apart. Yet, it is this process, the Malibubble phenomenon, that has made Pepperdine as much a part of me as I am a part of it.
