In her column “No More Excuses,” D’Souza stops postponing her visits to Stanford landmarks and finally makes time to experience the campus she’s been rushing through.

The number one piece of advice I heard going into college was to say “yes.” So I did.

I said “yes” to getting to know everyone in my dorm, becoming a floater between the lounge and the computer cluster. I said “yes” to 20 units fall quarter, which inevitably led to the worst sleep schedule imaginable. I said “yes” to joining a dance team with no prior experience. And I definitely said “yes” to my fair share of late-night pizookies.

For a while, I felt pretty content with myself. I was pushing my limits and reshaping my lifestyle, becoming a jack-of-all-trades, like many Stanford students. But after a quick self-analysis, I realized all of these “yeses” had been planned.

Before arriving on campus, I already knew I wanted to feel close to my dorm and find some kind of artistic outlet to balance my STEM-heavy schedule. I wasn’t internalizing the spirit of the advice: be spontaneous. I was saying yes, but only when it fit into my expectations.

Whenever spontaneity actually arose, I said “no.”

The “nos” felt small enough to forget. When friends asked if I wanted to go to the tennis courts or the golf range, I had a CS106B p-set that felt more urgent. Instead of going to Half Moon Bay, I worked on my CS109 p-set, convincing myself I might need my seven late days for the final weeks of the quarter. Each “no” felt justified, but each one left me feeling a little emptier.

This quarter, I decided to start saying yes to the small things.

I’m not one who can put my work aside, so this didn’t mean ignoring responsibilities. Saying “yes” meant budgeting time and adding to my schedule, not changing it. I started sleeping earlier and working more intentionally, leaving me feeling less behind than last quarter. Now, it was a matter of figuring out what to do with the time I’d made.

I could go downtown or to San Francisco, but I never had enough time to commit to such a long trek. That’s when I realized just how much of Stanford’s campus I had never actually taken the time to see. I could experience something new without even leaving campus.

At the top of my list was the Stanford Dish.

On move-in day, one of my roommates hiked the Dish at sunrise to commemorate the end of ISO. She came back with photos of the trail bathed in hazy yellow light, the Dish framed perfectly against the sky. Since then, I’d heard friends, clubs, and even Cardinal Nights participants talk about the trail’s serenity. Everyone seemed to have a Dish story except me.

As much as I wanted to go, I could never bring myself to do it alone. I kept waiting for the right group, the right timing, the right moment, but as we all know, it never really comes. Then one Saturday night, as I was finishing my work, my friends invited me to join them for a sunrise hike. They’d gone the week before and I had said no, but they asked again, just in case.

This time, I said yes.

I never imagined myself waking up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, especially with a MATH 104 midterm two days away. But there I was, getting ready in the dark to leave before sunrise. My friends and I biked what felt like a solid 25 minutes to reach the trailhead. I was surprised by how far it actually was; if I had known earlier, I probably would’ve found another reason to stay in bed. But in my new commitment to spontaneity, I followed my friends wherever they took me.

The trail was steeped in fog, making it hard to see anything beyond the hill in front of us. The air was sharper than I expected, leaving my arms numb without a jacket. As we climbed, the three of us talked about our quarter: what had gone well, what hadn’t and what we hoped to change. Saying it all out loud made me realize how much better this quarter already felt. For one thing, I told them, I was glad to have started my Stanford landmark to-do list.

On the hike, I expected to feel the familiar guilt I usually carry when I’m not working. Instead, my mind felt strangely quiet, lulled by the fresh air. I said what was on my mind until there was nothing left to say. For once, I wasn’t thinking about what I should be doing next. I was simply taking in the world around me.

The bike ride back was easy. Downhill. I didn’t even have to think about pedaling. In fact, I didn’t have much time to think at all because before I knew it, I was back at West Lag enjoying a warm brunch with my friends. The rest of my day followed the same old rhythm. The pendulum swung back toward productivity, but this time it felt balanced.

I get the hype around the Stanford Dish now. The trail itself isn’t extraordinary, at least not when it’s covered in fog, but stepping away from the parts of campus we associate with stress — lectures, problem sets, exams — helps us remember that being a Stanford student is about more than constant output. It’s just as important to take things in.

It was nice to finally make time for the outside world, even if it felt slightly inconvenient.

I could get used to this.

No —  I will.