Time is like a train

Ask me how time passed when I was five and I’d say I have infinite time in the world to do everything I wanted. Tell me to do something today and I’ll add it to a mental bin of an eclectic mixture of things I’ve done, things I’ve started, and things that I have yet to do. Maybe I’ll get around to it when I sort through that bin and maybe I won’t.  As I get older, I’m noticing how the days feel longer and the weeks shorter. 

As lower year comes to a close, I believe one the most significant ways in which I’ve grown is letting things go and coming to terms with my rigid “have to do everything perfectly” mentality. Particularly since it feels as if the weeks fly, I’ve realized that some things in my mental bin will stay unaddressed for a while. For example, some nights, I no longer preview the math material for the next day because I have a physics test the following day as well. When I sit in bed at night and think about everything I’ve done and everything that I haven’t, it’s not that I’ve forgotten to preview for math, it’s that I’m taking care of something else and making a slight compromise on another. Time simply keeps going. It’s like a train that you’re either on or you’re not. Since the weeks feel shorter, I’m afraid that too many unfinished projects will remain in that eclectic bin at the end of the year. 

Does time continue to go by faster? When I ponder this question, sometimes that feels impossible, considering the speed at which weeks already go by. I’ve somehow almost done with my second year of high school even though it feels as if I just moved into my dorm. The classes I took in the fall felt not too long ago, and the funny thing is that I still remember a lot of the material I covered in those classes pretty clearly. Adults always talked about how quickly the last three years of high school fly. I couldn’t agree more. 

To be liked and to be respected

For the longest time, I thought lots of people disliked me. My pessimism is in large part driven by my oblivion to the other side of being liked. I’m aware that most people in my grade perceive me to be a try hard and a bit of a workaholic. I’ve written before about how I sit alone at dinner working, or how I find myself in silent often. I admit I work a lot and I struggle to give myself free time, but I couldn’t imagine that being the reason behind my perceived feeling of people’s dislike towards me. After all, I am at a boarding school where just about everyone puts in the effort. 

I blame the way I talk, sometimes the things I say, and the questions that I ask people. There are areas of improvement for me there. I’d like to use the appropriate tone of voice for different occasions. I find myself talking in a straightforward manner 80% of the time, but sometimes people just need another friendly voice cheering them on.  There is room for improvement here. I need to ask the right questions and put myself in other people’s shoes. Empathy is important. 

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I spelled that all out in the dorm on Tuesday night to some seniors in the common room. I wanted advice and ways to improve my self-image. This conversation spurted from one senior’s question: why didn’t you run for class rep. The reply was easy and ingrained my head. I told her I didn’t think people in my grade liked me. For a while now, I’ve been thinking about how I could improve myself and better the way I interacted with other people at school. I’ve had conversations with my parents about improving the way I talk, what I say, and when I say it. Something I realized on Tuesday night is that sometimes there is no easy way to become more “likable”, as likability is often an innate response to a person’s behavior. In these cases, it’s about how the situation is looked at.  

I got many different responses and advice from the seniors in the study space. The most beautiful response I heard was from a senior whom I don’t usually talk to. She someone in the dorm who I see, but don’t usually interact with.  She told me there are ways that I can be more sensitive about the questions I ask, the tone of voice I use, and the things I say, just as my parents have advised me. Some of it is just about the way I phrase things. However, she mentioned that there’s an aspect that’s out of control for everyone and it’s inherent in how other’s perceive our actions. Some people in this world are well-liked. Others aren’t necessarily as well-liked, but they’re respected for the things they do and the way they behave. This senior told me a personal story about her experience feeling the same way I felt her freshman and lower year. She mentioned having done things that gave her a reputation amongst the grade. For a while, she was on the same boat as me, feeling down about herself because she thought people disliked her. I asked her how she learned to better herself. She made outward changes in the way she talked as I’ve been working at, but she also changed her inwards belief about herself. She told me that while she wasn’t “well-liked” amongst her peers, she’s realized she was respected. I parted the conversation with something she said that I will never forget: it is as valuable to be liked by others as it is to gain respect from people those whom you admire. Thank you for that, AR. 

Leo Ullman: survivor of the Holocaust

Yesterday evening, I went to a once in a lifetime event on campus. The Andover Jewish Society brought an alumn to campus who had survived the Holocaust. Leo Ullman (class of 1957) is one of the few remaining Holocaust survivors left in the world. 

Ullman’s story was absolutely gripping. He tells it from a first-hand case like no other history book. Ullman was just four years old when the Nazi’s attacked Holland. His grandfather owned a diamond cutting business, and his parents were both well-off and well-connected. Ullman believes that his family survived because they had resources and the connections to get themselves into hiding. When the war began, Ullman’s parents sent him into hiding with a police officer. This police officer, a connection of his mother’s, risked his life to take care of Ullman. Meanwhile, Ullman’s parents went into hiding for 2.5 years in an attic. After the war, Ullman’s family reconnected. At the time, Leo was about seven years old, but he had spent the entirety of his life that he could remember with the police officer. Ullman mentions in his talk that he didn’t experience the horrors as most others did, partially because he lived with an officer but also because he was young. 

One day, two gaunt people showed up at the officer’s house, claiming to be Leo’s parents. Hiding in the attic for 2.5 years, they couldn’t even walk properly. At this point in the story, Ullman claims that no writing can ever retell what his parents experienced during the war. He recalls that for 2.5 years, his parents lived listening to every single step outside the house and every knock on the door, knowing that knock or those footsteps could be the end of their lives. Ullman’s reunion with his parents marked the end of the war, and they moved to the United States. Leo Ullman went to PA for high school, later attending Harvard and Columbia. 

Ullman came from a privileged background. His family nevertheless experienced the trauma of WW2 and the Holocaust. At the beginning of the talk, Ullman mentions having had the opportunity to escape. Ullman and his family lived in Holland and at the time, everyone thought it would be safe to stay because Germany had not attacked Holland during WW1. These beliefs proved incorrect when Germany bombed a port, causing the government to flee and set up camp in England as a “government in exile”. 

The most striking part of Ullman’s entire talk to me was this: during the war, there was a 3-4 day gap between the overthrowing of the Holland government and Germany’s takeover. It was during this time that people who had money who take a ship to England; these 3-4 days were an escape period. Ullman and his family had gone to the ports to try to board a ship. They also had the funds to do it, but they didn’t have the patience. The ports were bustling with what seemed like the entire country trying to board a ship. Through the chaos, his parents made the decision to wait and come back another day when it was less crowded. The next time they came back, the Germans had sealed the port and there was no way to escape. 

A seemingly small decision made by his parents in the heat of chaos caused his family to remain in Holland during the Holocaust. I cannot imagine who different Ullman’s life would have been if he had escaped during that period. I appreciate Ullman for coming to our campus to speak. It was an honor being able to listen to him and truly enlightening. Ullman was young during the war and protected by a policeman so he didn’t experience the war as most people did. Nevertheless, for the remaining years of his life, he lived with his parents who really did experience the terror of it in the United States. It was their experience he sought to retell. 

A small step taken right now

"Success is not a big step in the future, success is a small step taken right now." -an old adage 

Sometimes I get super stressed in the moment. I have a huge bucket list of to-do's for the day and at the moment, it seems impossible to do everything. I ask myself to cut things out, but everything feels equally important. The most amazing feeling is when I'm lying in bed at night, realizing that I actually completed everything on that to-do list just by tackling them one-by-one. 

How seniors ask questions

There are two classes I take right now where there are seniors: music history and physics. I’ve noticed that the biggest difference between the seniors and the younger students, like myself, is their proficiency in asking the right questions and to self-advocate when they are confused. They merely have two years on me, but somehow in those two years, they’ve found ways to be more proactive in class. 

In my physics class, I am often confused. The course goes through topics very quickly and I often leave the classroom with lots of questions in my head. I’m sort of at that point in my self-advocacy where I will ask questions if the moment feels right. For me, I’m still hesitant to ask questions sometimes in class. It feels weird to ask questions when the teacher has already moved onto the next topic or if the teacher is getting really excited when they’re explaining the problem and then to hear me interrupt with « um, could you explain that again? I’m confused ». I feel as if it throws the teacher off track, and I feel bad asking too many questions. However, it feels different when the seniors ask questions. They ask lots of questions, at relevant times, and with profound efficiency. They do this without making it awkward for the teacher or the class. I’m not sure how they do it, but I think it’s the way they phrase the questions that make keeps the class flowing. What I’ve noticed and admire about the seniors is that they do not stop asking clarifying questions until the concept is clear. They know how to ask the right questions and point out exactly where they are confused. As a result, they get responses that are so tailored to that individual area of confusion that they end up only needed to ask one to two questions for that concept to become clear. 

This is an area I would like to improve upon. Being efficient with asking questions feels super critical to me because too often, I ask questions that get me responses I already understand. This can only mean I’m not asking the right questions. When I talked to the seniors in my class, they told me they felt similarly their lower year as well. Apparently asking the right questions and being proactively engaged in class is a skill that develops with time. For the time being, I will focus on asking more questions in class when I have them. 

The Perception of the gym

If you read my blog regularly, you’ve probably caught onto the fact that I’m a big believer in the power of daily exercise. Whether I spend an hour on the courts, running, or walking, I find that hour of some form of exercise is super beneficial to my sleep, study, and energy levels. While I can (finally!) see my legs when I walk out of the dorm in the morning (a.k.a I can finally wear shorts), it is snowy, wet, and cold for most of the year in New England. During those days, it is difficult to stay motivated and go out for a run or walk, and it’s definitely impossible to play tennis on an icy court. In those months of the year, I find myself going to the gym to use the ellipticals, mats, and some light weights to get in a good workout. I’ve always noticed that the number of girls and boys in the gym is pretty equal and there are the “regulars” in the gym who appear anywhere from 3-5 times a week. However, it recently came to my attention how intimidating the gym is for many people and the social stigma that surrounds the room itself.

When I look around the gym, most people who hang out in there regularly are varsity athletes or are passionate about fitness. Many athletes from the same team workout together in groups, which can be even more intimidating. I’ve haven't yet been intimidated by going into the gym, but it recently came to my attention that many of my close friends are. Last week, I was working out on the elliptical when I got a call from a friend. She asked me where I was. I replied I was working on the elliptical in the gym. She said cool, I’ll be there in 30 minutes. Can you stay with me while I stretch? I told her I would likely be done before 30 minutes but she insisted that I stay. I wondered why, and she told me that she was afraid to go into the gym alone without a “regular” because she never went herself. She also said she felt uncomfortable just going to the gym to stretch since she wasn’t going to break a sweat like all the people who squat hundreds of pounds or spin for an hour. In other words, she didn’t want to be judged. 

That’s precisely the social stigma surrounding the gym; it’s a persisting notion that all people who go to the gym lift 400 pounds, squat 200 lbs, run for 30 minutes, and are all super in shape. As a “regular” at the gym, I know this is untrue and I wish there was some way to change this perception on campus. I wish I could just tell people that the gym is a place for anyone with an intention and a purpose. Some people are in there to get stronger, others are trying to get faster, some of trying to change the way their body looks, and some are simply there to stretch.  While I can’t speak for others, I find that going to the gym with other people always decreases the anxiety that’s associated with it. As of now, I don’t know any immediate fixes, but I believe it’s important to make the gym a safe space on campus and not a place that represents some sort of social symbol. It’s not an easy fix, and other kids on campus may have talked about this issue before. I’m not exactly sure what I would do but I hope that someday, the gym can be a more welcoming place for everyone and not a room on campus that anyone has to think twice about before entering. 

Here's Passion

In everything we do, there are bound to be setbacks. I suppose passion is when you continue loving what you do even through those tough times and going into something with the willingness to fight. 

Tennis taught me that this week. At the beginning of the week, I was struggling with myself in the sport. I hadn’t been elected a co-captain and I was playing doubles instead of my preferred game, singles. At the time, during those rainy days where we didn’t have practice or those windy days where I struggled to hit the ball the way I wanted, I couldn’t focus on anything besides the fact that I wasn’t playing singles and that I hadn’t gotten the leadership position I strove for. Late at night, I would find myself watching quick match points on Youtube to accrue some inspiration and I questioned whether I wanted to stay on the team and whether I even wanted to play tennis anymore. At the time, it felt as if I couldn’t imagine myself being on the team if I didn’t play singles. 

Our game on Friday indubitably reversed these negative thoughts I’d been having at the beginning of the week. I played a singles exhibition match which I won 6-0 and a tight doubles match where my partner and I lost 7-9. But after I stepped off the court and got onto the bus back to campus, I couldn’t help but notice how…great I felt. It didn’t matter that I’d lost in doubles because my partner and I fought for every point. We came back after losing three games in a row.  We came back even though someone in the crowd was rooting for the other team. He was making funny (but distracting) comments such as: “LOVE that volley! Right over to the next area-code!” or “I love my poached eggs”. He was hilarious and his commentary set a unique dynamic on the court for my partner and me. Nevertheless, we came back after being down 6-3 and we had to play an extra game because it was so close. It was a match worth fighting for and I don’t regret it one minute. I look back at that match and I smile. 

When I look at with a clear head, I realize that I’ll never quit tennis. It’s like a part of me. It’s doesn’t matter how good I become or whether my skill declines later in life. I feel this sport is truly a part of me and I get inspired in a unique way every time I walked off a court satisfied.  I thought about some of the good points and how my partner and I overcame our distractions with the annoying fan. I keep thinking about how amazing a feeling it is being able to fight for something so intensely in the moment. Even though I played an exhibition match for singles, I played some technically advanced points and, of course, some not so bright points. It was that concoction of events that lead me to feel extremely happy even just to be able to play. I was talking to my friend about it on Friday night and she told me: “it means you’re really passionate about tennis since you’re able to find happiness in it after you’ve faced some obstacles”. I guess I am. But now I also know what the word passion means to me. It’s hard to put into words and I suppose it’s more a gut feeling than anything else. It’s a happiness that arises and a willingness to work through anything that comes in the way. And it’s something you wouldn’t ever abandon. 

Living for the 1%

I find myself saying that a lot lately: living for the 1%. I use this phrase in conversations, discussions in class, and most prevalently in my decision-making processes. Even though I say it so often, I wanted to use this post to clarify for myself what it means to me. 

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There are some people in this world whom we’re bound to dislike, whether it be due to the way they talk, the way they think, or just how they present themselves in public. Even when I find myself in classes or just walking along the paths of campus, I endeavor to enter every conversation judgment free. I’ve found this practice has allowed me to capture different parts of everyone and compartmentalize these traits into someone whom I call myself. 

There’s one particularly interesting person in my grade from whom I learned this phrase that I find myself repeating. He has surface-level knowledgable on an expansive array of topics and is one of the most opinionated people I’ve met. One of his mantras is living with some risk for the greater majority of the times when things actually work out okay. 

After lunch, I was sitting in Commons finishing up some work before my next class. Suddenly, I realized that I’d forgotten to bring a sheet of paper that my teacher had handed out the day before. He usually doesn’t refer to handouts from previous classes, but in the moment, a sudden fear that he would ask we take it out became the impetus for my plan to take an 8-minute walk back to my dorm to get it. Only a few minutes remained before the class would begin, so I told my friend that I needed to run back to my dorm to get the sheet. He replied matter of factly: Do you really think he’s gonna check it? Like he never does. I said it was a possibility, and I wouldn’t want to be called out on that. He promptly replied that it was better to come to class without a paper that would most likely not be used than to come to class late with a paper that had that 1% chance of being referred to. I thought about it for a moment and could see his point. Am I living life for the 1%?

It reminded me of a topic we studied in my Proof and Persuasion class about framed risk. The example I remember most vividly is about a car accident. There was a scenario where a person dies in a car because they wore the seatbelt. This seems like an unlikely and merely unfortunate situation since seatbelts are designed to ensure safety. However, the public overreacts to the incident and deems seatbelts as inherently dangerous. This is what I consider to be living for the 1% chance, as people have changed their perceptions on something that proves effective the majority of the time. 

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I suppose what I’m learning is to take some more risks with life and to minimize inevitable outcomes of fighting for the slim chances that something might happen. If I’d gone back to get that handout from the previous class, I would have sacrificed my timeliness to class to get a sheet that we likely would not use. If people stopped wearing seatbelts, they would save themselves from the 1% chance that they die from wearing a seatbelt but escalate the probability of death from an accident in general. 

I guess what I’m really weighing are priorities and risk. I’m figuring out the value of doing something in the grand scheme of things and weighing the benefits against the inherent negative outcomes. This is becoming increasingly important in my high school career, as I’m finding I have less time to make up for these minor mistakes (forgetting a sheet of paper, forgetting to take reading notes etc.). This can signal one of two things, either I walk into class slightly less prepared but pull through just this once or create a new fault that cannot be excused. 

Time's greatest gift

Time’s greatest gift is its ability to alleviate and dissipate our most troublesome worries. 

To my 16-year-old ears, the phrase “Just sleep on it” couldn’t stand truer.  Magic happens overnight and I’ve discovered how dark clouds of worry in my head before bedtime clear when I wake up. It’s starting fresh. Issues and worries that seem to have no end during the long nights suddenly appear to have feasible solutions. To this sense of clarity, I thank time. 

Sometimes, things happen during the day that I know even sleep won’t mitigate and these occurrences can strain my ability to think clearly. I found that time creates distance. It’s like we’re on an evergoing train powered by time where every stop is a event. Time drives us further from each stop. I’ve discovered that after a certain threshold of stops, I end up looking at that troublesome stop in the distance with some pity. In certain cases, of course, these are life-altering stops, but most of the time they look petty in the distance. I end up asking myself, was it really worth all that stress? 

Regular readers of my blog will know that I’m a believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason and I’ve come to realize that time is a significant proponent.

So better things can fall together

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"Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together" -Marilyn Monroe