The Cornell academic calendar, with its first day of classes (and therefore, my first scheduled column) desperately far from the start of the New Year, tested my ability to write about New Year’s resolutions. I’m doing it anyway because I love fresh starts. In 2018, I resolved to Not Get Broken Up With, Not Even Once. I got dumped, on January 21st, by a boy who taught me how to roll cigarettes that I, less officially, have resolved to never smoke. So, the gig was up, and the resolution was broken, but I was surprisingly okay with it.
I wish I could say I plunged into my time at Cornell with the same determination as someone sprinting to the first empty table at Libe. With the same sheer intent to get to what you know you deserve, that willpower to beat out everyone else and bask in your triumph. You’ve been standing around for five minutes looking like an idiot, you’ve gotten your coffee, you’re ready to pull your laptop out and get next to nothing done — you deserve that table more than anyone else here, and you will have it. That is how I wish every second of my time at Cornell looked like. Having (successfully?) made the transition to an upperclassman here, I can look back at the last two years and happily admit to myself that my time here so far has been anything but filled with the sheer determination to get what I know I deserve.