Q1

I set off to write a practical post about learning Russian, and this came out. Oops.

Enjoy?

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Finals week is coming to a close here at Stanford. Some students have already packed off to other climes, while some hold out for a few more days sunning on the lawns, basking in the genial warmth of their well-deserved freedom.

So what am I doing sitting inside Green Library, banging on a keyboard? I feel some obligation, in truth, to turn inward and think about the long-term. Shmong-term, some friends might say. But it’s too easy in my mind to otherwise fall victim to the rush of social events, of assignments, of hurried discussions. It’s too easy to remain just a little bit behind, close enough that grades turn out okay but far enough that there never seems to be time to just breathe.

And so this my attempt to do just that. What ensues is an inevitably discursive coverage of the events of this past quarter. Brace yourself for inflated sentiment and vigorous hand-waving.

The plunge

Smile. Handshake. Where-are-you-from-what-is-your-major. Repeat.

“New Student Orientation” at Stanford—a week of Guaranteed Fun prescribed and orchestrated by the university—was in retrospect just a bit too terribly awkward for my liking. We frosh, each decorated with lanyard and a complimentary week-long agenda booklet, were carted from auditorium to dormitory and back from early morning until far past any sensible bedtime. While I can’t deny that some of these events were inspiring, motivating, etc. etc., I find looking back that I was driven toward what were absolutely the wrong ends. I made too many “friends” and not enough friends. Rectified quickly, of course, as shall be illustrated. But if I were to do it again I would skip the events and go for the people instead.

Surfacing¹

Classes came abruptly, without any sort of warning, much in the same way that my bike chain broke on the first day. An ominous start indeed.

But classes turned right soon enough. It was in these classes that I began to see more of the Stanford I had dreamed about. A bare-bones statistics class with no prerequisites in which every student turned out to already know calculus, followed by a seminar in which jokes about the Stoics and utilitarianism actually got laughs. Every alumnus and student will confirm that Stanford’s environment is all about the people. But you can’t understand until you live here and realize just how brilliant your companions are—until you can grasp that that hoodied kid on a trick bike is a published author, or that girl you just chatted with has been documenting exoplanets for years.

Everyone is a superstar in their own way. And the most fantastic thing is that the large majority of them don’t even know it. This is not taught modesty. It’s something more, I think, like a blatant disregard for recognition of any sort, perhaps because of a disbelief in the magnitude of their accomplishments. People here see their work as part of their life. They carry a different idea of the split, that is, between effort and play.

Classes continued. Friend circles formed. After an aberrant week of extroversion on my part, I returned to my natural hermit state, accompanied by several like-minded companions.

Lessons

I can’t think of anything extremely noteworthy past this period of adjustment. In short: fun times were had. Bonds were strengthened. Things were learned.

I didn’t truly assimilate what is likely to be my most important lesson, though, until very recently. It seems that both a class and my peers conspired to teach me a certain thing about life.² More specifically, about the great benefit in living intentionally. Planning, that is, and reflecting often upon who I am, who I want to be, and what exactly I need to accomplish to make that desired me a reality.

My eyes have been opened to self-reliance and self-writing, in both of which exists tremendous potential for growth and for a truer understanding. I’ve been motivated to pursue—well, heck, I am pursuing at this very moment—a life centered around these ideas.

I’m only scratching the surface of the effect which this quarter has had on me. It’s not feasible to directly express just how much I have changed. I suppose it will be visible in the future posts here.

I half-joked with my dad earlier this year³ that the best graduation gift would be four years at a university. I see now that there’s no joke in that at all. I am being changed and I am changing. What an outstanding place.

Enough—I’m off to enjoy the sun.