I want to write something hopeful. I think we read enough about doomscrolling and failed systems and the deaths of romance, democracy, free will, our friends. I want to write just for you and me.

Maybe you’re on your third rough day in a row. You’re subsisting off of room temperature Red Bulls and intermittent handfuls of cereal. You turned in an assignment late because you forgot it was assigned until an hour after it was due. You haven’t called your mom, maybe because you can’t, maybe because you don’t want her to see you on a rough day. It’s like time is slipping through the threads of your existence, and even though each tomorrow has the promise of being better, you feel less and less present for the start of each today.

Do you remember how it felt when you were packing up to move for college? Probably some frenzied excitement mixed with a tinge of existential dread. Maybe a little bit of sadness for letting go, but underneath that, a certainty that the future had things you would want to hold onto. You were nervous but hopeful. I would take that over apathy any day.

Have you ever walked down the street between FloMo and Tresidder and noticed the way the sun hits the Mars lawn at golden hour? It’s really beautiful, like, wow-I-understand-why-we-revolve-around-the-sun beautiful. Have you ever driven down Palm Drive and seen Main Quad in her entirety? Suddenly, it’s not where you failed that midterm or where you were supposed to have section had you not skipped it; it is just a gorgeous view, a sight designed to inspire awe.

Have you tried an ube donut from CoHo? The first time I had one was on the third day of sorority rush my freshman year, when I thought my life was ruined for reasons I can’t seem to remember now. But anyway, it’s my favorite thing, and you ought to get one with your coffee next time you’re there. Also, you should try Tootsie’s Café at the Cantor Museum and get yourself a matcha from the Stanford Bookstore Café. It’s a little funny; I like to sit in public spaces and pretend I’m somewhere else besides Stanford, just so I can remember to be grateful that I’m here. Campus has a lot of hidden gem coffee spots beyond Coupa and CoHo, for when you need a pick-me-up without all the visibility.

Maybe spring break after the crush of winter wasn’t as rejuvenating as you had hoped it would be; maybe you’re getting through Week 1 of classes and already worrying about how you’ll feel during Week 5. I have been there and felt that. But I have also felt the breeze in my face on my way up the stairs of McMurtry, a glow in my chest at the sight of a lush green Lake Lag. I have felt my face hurt from smiling at four in the morning, surrounded by wacky costumes and fueled by crowd adrenaline as we walked through the Oval to the Caltrain station. 

I have slowed down and sped up the clock through my days here, lazed in the sun on Meyer Green and sprinted toward the waves of Half Moon Bay. I have laughed so hard my stomach hurt and met people I’ll be telling my kids about one day. And when I think about it like that, I remember how badly I wanted to be here, and how it’s even better than I thought it would be, and I should probably call my mom because I can and she would want to know how I’m feeling.

If you haven’t felt these things, I feel hopeful that you will. Stanford is not perfect and more than a few days are rough, but given that we’re here and able, I think the least we can do is remember to care about whatever it is that gave us the energy to get here. 

And so, the passion is back.