In each installment of “Senior Scaries,” Erin Ye ’26 confronts her senior-year fears in her final three quarters at Stanford. You’ll hear about the triumphs and tribulations of tackling the Senior Bucket List™ and hopefully feel less alone in the never-ending soul search that comes with growing up.
Halfway through my senior fall, I have a million things I could write an essay about.
On Monday of Week 1, my last first day of college, a yellow jacket stung the inside of my mouth, and I had a massive allergic reaction. My face blew up until I looked like something out of a horror movie; when I called my mom to show her, she burst into hysterics. Luckily, it calmed down after a few days, and my friends were great about telling me, “It doesn’t look that bad!”
It did look that bad.
The night before, we’d had our “Welcome to Mars” house meeting and learned that one of our residents had the keys to the Stanford Clock Tower. She was passing them down in a few days, so to seize the moment, a group of us went to climb to the top and sit under the bell. Now, whenever I hear the tower ringing at irregular times or when I don’t hear it ringing when it should be, I think about that night, my hands sweating against the ladder rungs, my eyes widening with wonder once I saw the view.
Friday of Week 2 was Marsgaritaville, Mars’ row signature event and the main topic of pretty much every conversation I had for the month leading up to it. Despite, or maybe because of, the stress of assembling sound equipment, managing ticket sales and getting registered by the County of Santa Clara to serve alcohol, the night itself was perfect. To be fair, what could have been bad about unlimited margaritas, live music and my favorite people on the front lawn?
I turned 21 on Thursday of Week 3. It feels self-indulgent to write about every part of the celebrations, but it’s more so a testament to the insanity of my friends here. My last birthday shower featured a Smirnoff Ice waiting for me in the bathroom. My last birthday dinner of college was spent with the same friends I’ve had every birthday dinner with at Stanford. At Thursday night trivia, the entire clientele of Treehouse sang “Happy Birthday” to me. On Friday, what I thought was a belated birthday picnic on the Oval turned into a scavenger hunt, with a new friend meeting me at each spot and joining me on the hunt. They took me from my freshman dorm to my old sorority house to Meyer Green, where I spent every Wednesday of junior spring sipping on Coupa smoothies with friends. From there, we went to the Daily House and played two rounds of Sardines. I was already incredulous with appreciation when a surprise party met me at the door of Mars: decorations, two specialty cocktails (frozen latte and cherry lime margarita), cake, Erin-themed trivia and all of my friends. There was so much planning and coordination across so many amazing people I’ve met here. It’s hard to rationalize how lucky I am that we all ended up at this crazy, unreal place.
Stanford used to be a dream and has since become my home. Things I thought were unimaginable are now part of the world I inhabit. It makes me grateful every day — but also terrified to leave.
Every part of senior year feels like the last time I do something. Will I ever have friends living so close to me ever again, who I can spend my weekends baking cakes with and my late nights studying in the dining room with? Will I ever be able to learn so much in such short spans of time, have access to so many opportunities and be able to try and fail with such little repercussions? I don’t know, and I can’t predict the future.
The other day at lunch, my friend said that time in terms of your lifespan is nonlinear. When you go from four to five, you’ve just increased your life by 25%, but by 76, it all feels the same. If I expect to live to around 80, looking at the geometric series of my life, the halfway point is 21. That means that as of a few weeks ago, I’ve already reached that halfway point of my life. Every year from here on out will feel shorter and less significant than the last.
I want to stretch every day of senior year out into weeks. I want to feel this free forever, to stay in each moment just a little bit longer. But I can’t, and this year wouldn’t feel as special if I could. It’s the knowledge that we’re leaving that makes us want to linger.
When I got into Stanford, I felt like I had slipped through the cracks without their knowledge. I resolved to get here and take advantage of the fact that I’d been accidentally allowed to be around geniuses. But it’s not like that. People here are normal, even flawed. We all come from a cloth of ambition and a slight insecurity that we won’t make it. Yet, we all believe in one another more than we believe in ourselves.
I’m moving to New York in less than a year. My 22nd birthday will look nothing like this last one. But it will still be good, so long as I continue to make good on my promises. When I think of senior year, I’ll think of all the things I would have never done if it weren’t for the leaps of faith that fleetingness afforded me.