Back when I was a freshman, I was dreadfully boring. I was not one of the Stanford frosh dead-set on making a mark on their institution, but one of the tens of thousands of incoming freshmen in the University of California system.

I was dumped onto campus unceremoniously, without showcases or guidance, and told to go figure it out. To my credit, I did figure it out, as did most freshmen. I lived in a tiny dorm room not unlike the one I live in now, and within its walls I never did a single thing I enjoyed.

Those who knew me then would object to this, saying I was social, involved in my community and a friendly face of the physics department. But they didn’t see how I gave up my hobbies to make more time for research, and they had no way of knowing that I lived a life ruled by the fear of trying anything new. I was so single-mindedly focused on this notion I had of “winning,” whatever that means, that abandoning who I was and everything I enjoyed about my life was an acceptable price.

And I did win. That’s the worst part, really, because I cannot make some grand statement about how it didn’t pay off. In two years flat, I went from a disoriented, disorganized freshman in Calculus II to the very forefront of my department, both as a student and a researcher. It upsets me how well shutting yourself in your room works. In my sophomore year, I applied to transfer out. Ostensibly, I did it for my academic career; I had run out of classes to take. But if that was the truth, why did I keep it a secret from everyone?

For months, I told not a single soul at that institution that I was applying, because I was consumed by guilt over how I had spent the last two years. I dearly regretted not saying yes to the things that I found interesting, all the chances to meet new people I’d spent doing my electromagnetism homework instead. I could start anew, try again next year, but it isn’t the same when you’re a junior, and neither are you. Now accustomed to the desire paths of your institution and field of study, the mental energy to stray from the paths is immense compared to that of the freshman, who hasn’t yet learned such things. I wanted to be a freshman again, and I secretly hoped that transferring would give me that chance.

How many people get the chance to start over? The first time I was on Stanford’s campus was after I had gotten in. My phone was buzzing off the hook, my family daydreaming on my behalf about how good this would be for my career. I felt terribly silly that I, one of the few offered the privilege of transferring to Stanford, wasn’t thinking much about that. To be honest, I was mostly wondering why there were people in the fountains. But I was also quietly watching the people around me as I explored, for the very first time, the arcades I now walk through daily.

I was trying to understand what it was like to be a student at Stanford, the emotional qualities more than the material. I eavesdropped, read fliers and watched the way people flowed through their campus. I felt a certain quality, its exact nature evading language, but most proximal to fearlessness.

Fearlessness in a way that ran counter to the defensiveness I had developed around my time and academics. Perhaps I could let myself join the newspaper at Stanford, I remember thinking to myself, because people here seem to be able to be a physicist and something else. I knew myself too well, though; I would have to actually convince myself that it was worth doing anything other than career grinding. I found my way onto the balcony of Spilker, and as I stood there and looked over the main quad, I thought about regret. What would I regret not doing? What would my future self be screaming at me to go out and do right now? Living was the only decent answer I could come up with, because I knew that I would forever regret spending my undergraduate years with my nose always in a book.

New Student Orientation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was frenetic, disorienting and extremely tiring. I made the mistake of playing volleyball for two hours before band run, and came back so thoroughly exhausted that my left AirPod was found in the hallway outside of my room and the key to my room was left hanging in the keyhole all night.

By contrast, the first night of my freshman year, I stayed in my room and applied to jobs. I kept saying yes, especially when I least wanted to. I let The Daily wake me up at 8:01 AM. I went to a frat party and absolutely hated it. I dyed my hair blue. I overcommitted so hard that I freaked out and quit a bunch of things, and then immediately went and joined some more.

Letting go of the urge to run back to my room and study was tricky, but when I could finally trust myself enough to relax, it started to come to me naturally. I no longer had to force myself to say yes, and started living as I wished. I kept going to parties, eventually finding some I liked, and with them a community of people that make this campus feel familiar. I was so busy that it took me a second to realize that I was a freshman again. I felt more like I had won this time around than I ever did when I was achieving the highest highs of my career so far. I feel so lucky to get to run it all back.