Last Monday, I went on a run. It was one of those really good runs. One where you were trying but at the same time not trying at all. One where the elegant sun ran across your face, but at the same time, the dramatic clouds pushed you forward. One where you were floating over the ground but at the same time pounding the pavement like never before. It felt good. And, I felt strong.

Twelve hours later, I was swallowing Tylenol Cold + Flu Severe pills and questioning whether I should email my teachers about missing class the next day. Lying sick in my bed, I couldn’t help but think of one thing: How did I get here, dead sick in my bed and about to miss out on all the exciting hubbub around campus?

And I started thinking seriously: How did I end up in this situation, yet again? (It had been about a month since I had last been sick like this.) Sitting there, reflecting in my bed, I uncovered my real question: How could I not have ended up here? I had been getting seven hours of sleep or less for two weeks straight (compared to my usual eight hours), running to and from events literally overlapping each other, budgeting minimal time for work and giving myself no time for rest. I had been out of town the past three weekends in a row, and the one weekend I was in town, I doubled down on events in a perplexing attempt to try to make up for a non-travel weekend. Oh, how I wish I had just taken that opportunity to recover.

I had been trying to juggle 20 balls at the same time. I thought I was doing great. Then, they all came crashing down. I literally worked myself to the point of being sick. 

I know that there has been a lot said about Stanford’s duck syndrome, but — to my understanding up to this point — that was an external thing. Something that appeared on the outside. Now, it was happening to me on the inside. I was telling my body that I was fine — just a couple more weeks, and it would be summer. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? My mind told me I was fine, yet my body was melting down.

So, clearly, I have a problem. I am a strong proponent that the first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. I feel like I have done that, but that doesn’t solve things. I have identified that working myself sick is not sustainable, but now I need to identify the solution. Here, I was really stuck.

Fortunately, I had plenty of time to think about it while lying sick in bed for endless hours. Then, it hit me: What if I just say “no”? 

I had gotten into this situation by saying yes to literally everything that came my way. Emails, texts, random flyers, late night walks, anything and everything that came to me I would say yes to. 

In fact, I would argue that Stanford compels us to say yes. Every time an opportunity came to me, a couple of things would go through my head. First: Man, I’m at Stanford. I have to take advantage of every opportunity there is. I need to get my money’s worth. Second: What do I really have going on? Other, less time-sensitive commitments can wait until later, can’t they? I need to optimize my time. Moreover, the relentless grind to get into a place like Stanford motivates that unwavering optimism to stay yes to everything and always overbook. The Stanford admissions process would have not taken us if we were not overbooked. It’s a prerequisite.

But, this can be a slippery slope to start down. Saying yes weekly to two talks, three club events and two meals with friends can quickly zap a schedule, not even considering the spontaneous late night talks and early morning runs. Saying yes to everything sets no boundaries, no limits. Living up to literally limitless expectations is impossible — and better put — it’s really taxing. It has taken a whole lot out of me.

I am proposing a rather simple answer for myself: “No, thank you.” No, thank you. Let that ring for a little. Sit, saturate. As hard as it is to say, I think it can be transformative. “No” allows boundaries and limits on life, lets you set goals that you can meet, and creates a box so that you can think outside of it.

I used to take pride in being a “yes man.” My two favorite phrases in high school were (interchangeably) “yes, ma’am” and “yes, sir.” I won’t lie, I still take a lot of pride in my willingness to say yes to a lot of outrageous things. That quality has produced so many of my fondest memories at Stanford.

However, that doesn’t mean I can’t say no. Humans often like categories – you are either a “yes person” or a “no person.” Stanford often likes categories, too, and often the “yes people.” Life shouldn’t be that simple. Just because I say yes to a lot of events doesn’t mean I can’t say no sometimes. The more times I say yes, the less powerful the word gets, and inversely so, the more powerful no gets.

So, as I’m back to full strength after letting my body rest, I’m thinking it’s time for a change. Goodbye, “yes man” and welcome “no man.” I’m ready for the liberating — perhaps paradoxically so — power of no.