I wanted to attend Stanford so I could surround myself with ambitious, curious people. When I got in, it felt like a golden ticket to a playground of ideas and perspectives. Yet over the first few weeks of Fall Quarter, I started to question the value of ambition. It felt like most students were neither intellectually nor socially present, caring instead about competitive sorting mechanisms as status symbols (clubs, internships — anything that could be put on LinkedIn). Fueled by anxiety, I fell into this trap, though calling it a “trap” feels dismissive; students try to embrace the dominant culture to get the most out of the Stanford experience.

Although students should be held accountable for their behavior, I do not blame any of us for climbing. We all had to climb to get here one way or another, and it seems natural to continue, to avoid losing momentum if nothing else. Even though Stanford and other elite universities encourage students to relish the college experience and appreciate learning for its own sake, they are responsible for rewarding climbing on a structural level rather than inspiring students to think deeply and creatively. Administrators often make decisions based on what will contribute to their institution’s reputation, leading undergraduates to do the same. This raises the question, are universities inherently valuable? If so, is it acceptable for institutions to prioritize self-preservation?

College is an investment. When elite universities exist, and their elite nature is valued in the market, students justify spending their time and money so they can climb corporate ladders later in life. This has been the case since the early 20th century when Thorstein Veblen published The Higher Learning in America. Veblen, who taught at Stanford, identified that implementing business principles fundamentally shapes institutions, resulting in a focus on “tangible quantitative features” conveying “visible success.” In this model, students are customers and universities compete for their business.

Students thus internalize meritocratic hierarchies, operating in a mode of constant comparison. Every choice becomes a step on the ladder: schools, majors, even specific courses we take or avoid. Many of my friends have confessed that they often choose classes based on whether they can receive an A+ to boost the ever-anxiety-inducing GPA.

This affects everyone, from first-generation students chasing upward mobility to wealthy students seeking to maintain their status. Students at elite institutions may respond differently to their schools’ cultures, but when education becomes a competition, we are all stripped of our intellectual freedom.

The Stanford experience is particularly disorienting because of the institution’s reputation as a school for changemakers in the tech sector. The university does not only pride itself on alumni; current students are encouraged to build, even if change is not always for the better.

When John Henry Newman advocated for a liberal arts education focused on multidisciplinary critical thinking rather than training in specific fields, he wrote, “a University is not a birthplace of poets or of immortal authors, of founders of schools, leaders of colonies, or conquerors of nations.” Yet, students attend Stanford with aspirations of becoming “immortal,” and the university has earned its prestige in part because of this ambitious culture. I frequently hear students gossiping about classmates dropping out to work on start-ups and subsequently lamenting that they’re already behind. Even though the university encourages intellectual pursuits, it enables the dominant culture of chasing anti-academic prestige because the university benefits from it. Thus, our brightest young minds lose the opportunity to sit with ideas and make authentic connections with peers, practices that lead to personal fulfillment and meaningful change.

Personal growth may be a byproduct of studying at America’s elite higher education institutions, but students cannot effectively expand their perspectives when schools have conflicting incentives. Perhaps this is only possible through “informal education,” learning that stems from genuine curiosity. Most importantly, it must be initiated by students. In the words of theoretical physicist and Nobel laureate Richard Feynman, “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible.” Studying is often tied to dread, the same way artists like Franz Kafka portray work, but the sharing and development of knowledge is, and should feel, human.

Although elite universities prioritize self-preservation, I would not advocate for their abolition… not yet. However, we must reject the pressures of the higher education system while operating within it, remembering that only informal education eliminates the incentives that distract from the pure pursuit of knowledge.

So, what do I think students should do? Ensure you’re employable, then use the rest of your energy to 1) study and create things that matter to you and 2) wander. There are so many paths to choose from, so many opportunities to explore academic and pre-professional interests, but it is still important to embrace randomness, especially in an environment that is specifically curated to ensure success. This isn’t disengagement, it’s thoughtful reallocation of effort.

Nearing the end of my freshman year, I once again value ambition. We should all dream, and we all have the capacity to dream. There is a difference, however, between competing and dreaming, and between climbing and playing. We may have to climb a ladder or two to maximize our impact, but it is critical that we remember the world is our playground.