Most days, around 2:45 p.m., I walk into Arrillaga for a late lunch and scan the room for a familiar face. As I hold a full plate in my right hand and a cup of hot chocolate in my left, I pray — for a moment — that I recognize someone to sit with at the dining hall. Arrillaga is almost closing; by then, the room is nearly empty. Upon realizing no one I know is here, I take a seat at the end of a long table, accompanied by three to four other students who also find some solitude in eating lunch alone.

If you told me in high school that I’d be sitting by myself at least once a day, I’d have been devastated. What happened to the friend groups that got together every day under the glaring Florida sun? What happened to the feeling of knowing I’d always have someone to talk to?

But if you ask me now, I’d have no complaints. Although it feels awkward at first, I’ve come to accept — and even love — the independence of eating on my own. It’s the one part of my day when I’m not rushing to class or answering anyone. In this isolation, I’m finally able to relax and catch up on my latest Youtube recommendations.

Sometimes, though, I want someone to talk to, so I call my friends from home. I’m 2,600 miles away, and I’m hearing my Model UN partner talk about her new relationship, or my other friend enthusing about the internship he got as a result of our nonprofit work back home. I’m happy for them, and I’m glad to hear about it. 

And when our schedules line up, my Stanford friends and I plan lunch together. It feels like we have an infinite number of things to catch up on, from the latest Nobel Prize winners, to my friend’s obsession with “10 Things I Hate About You,” to the simple question “what’s for dinner tomorrow?”

But even when I don’t have plans, I don’t always end up alone. Some days, right on cue, someone I know from my dorm catches my eye across Arrillaga and ushers me over. I sit down, my hot chocolate still warm, ready to dig in.