In her column “Small Epiphanies,” Sarah Yao ’30 reflects on the little moments that reveal our humanity and remind us of what we hold close.

I’m losing myself — what does that even mean?

This month, I’ve been exhausted and overworked, stressed and anxious. I’ve been caught in a never-ending cycle of assignments, midterms, declining grades and comparison. I’m recruiting for clubs I don’t even like, interacting with people behind a facade and diminishing who I really am for the sake of fleeting superficial interactions.

In the process, I’ve lost my love for learning, for discovery. I no longer find interest in the small wonders of the world around me; I’ve stopped journaling, stopped reading. I’ve pushed these to the back of my priority list, even removed them, and convinced myself of the ultimate lie: that I “don’t have time.”

The first time I felt heartbreak here was when I realized I missed the application deadline for The Stanford Daily. I fathomed, that morning, that I had missed out on something that truly would have made me feel like me, because I had been so caught up in chasing prestige, pressured into an unnatural world of coffee chats and networking.

After chatting with one of my professors, I asked him for one piece of advice. This is what he said: sometimes learning what you don’t like tells you more about yourself than continuing to do the things you do like.

After my first month at Stanford, I’ve felt that this is especially true. Given the freedom of exploration paired with fatiguing failure to perform, I’ve dealt with the constant questioning of my worth, abilities and lack of direction. I’ve felt mad at myself for wasting endless hours on club applications after being rejected again and again, felt upset that I’ll never be good enough, felt upset that there will always be someone out there doing something better than me. Most of all, I’ve felt angry that I’ve ended up exactly where I started — I still don’t know where I want to go. If college is a time of discovery, why am I making no progress?

But to feel these things is to be human.

I’ve lost my humanity. I’ve lost my humanity because I stopped reading and writing for joy and pleasure. I stopped journaling every night, stopped reading books for fun; I started convincing myself that literature was unimportant, that it was a chore.

I’ve strayed away from — I’ve denied — the things that make me me.

But sometimes it takes learning what you don’t like, what drains you, to recenter yourself on the things that fill you.

This past week, I went to a panel that was required for COLLEGE 101. There, alumni and faculty shared their experiences at Stanford and what it means to live “a good life.”

I went into the panel thinking it would be a waste of time. Instead, I should be doing my CS homework, reading my Econ textbook, or writing my essay for PWR class. But as the panel drew me in, I felt myself compelled towards answering the question we began with: What does it mean to live a good life?

“Live lives that are eulogy builders.”

This is what I wrote down in my notebook during the panel:

“I want to keep reading and writing about the human experience. I want to stay in touch with my humanity, because this first month I feel that I have been caught up in trying to chase purposeless things. I want to be able to slow down and hear my own thoughts and read and write again. I want to live.

Live lives that are eulogy builders, not CV builders.”

A good life is simple. I’ve realized that it’s not grand or imposing, not as materialistic or complicated as we envision. A good life is simply giving yourself the space to discover — or rediscover — what you love, ultimately embracing who you are again. 

Thank you to George and Emi, who spoke that night, who made me realize who I am and what I love again; for bringing me back into the world of words and humans and feelings and magic. In short, hearing their words meant so much to me that I found myself reaching out to join The Daily even after the application deadline; now, here I am.

We may be lost, but we are never beyond finding.

While I’m still trying to find peace with myself, to give myself grace, to understand that though time is fleeting, this first month was not a waste of it. In the process of discovery, we lose ourselves, but we find ourselves again.

— And if we don’t find ourselves, we shouldn’t worry, because what we love will always find us.