If the peak of my life’s worth is Stanford, then that is a sad life. If the most exciting part about myself and the chronology of my life is at the age of twenty-three ergo the year that Stanford took place, then I am pathetic. If Stanford is the indicator to which the scale that ‘interesting’ is measured in my life and myself as a person, then I have not yet lived a life worth telling and remembering.
If Stanford is the end, and not the means, then I am going against every single belief I have developed before coming here. If Stanford is the definition of who I am as a person and professionally, as an environmental engineer, then I am not honoring the wisdom gained and humility borne from my undergraduate years and alma mater. If Stanford is the crux of my existence, then I am merely a figment of an imagination – an illusion.
Will the school remember me, or will I remember it? Will those hallways and discrete study spaces carry my name, or will my memories sustain them? Will each person I have met here remember me, or will they continue to live a thousand different lives through my stories? Will they – each person and every nook and crevice – remember me, or will they live on in my continual remembrance of the year that once was?
You and I both know the answers to these questions. Of course it’ll be all me – that’s just how it is.
If the peak of my life is at twenty-three, and the reason is, of all things, grad school, then that is a sad life indeed.
That’s a life not yet lived.
If the best is the best simply because it is the best – yawn, how extremely boring.
(Girl, you still know nothing)