R.I.P. activities we were known for

In the spirit of formulating a New Year's resolution, I’ve been reflecting on how I’ve grown during my Princeton experience and where I want to find myself on graduation day in a few short months. As a result, I found myself being nostalgic thinking about activities I used to do. I’m sure most Princetonians can think of an activity they’ve — for lack of a better word — quit. Yet “quitting” has a negative connotation that I think is undeserved because it’s rarely out of sheer laziness that we choose to suspend an activity. Whether it’s a varsity athlete who had to give up other sports to focus on one, or an artist or scientist who had to give up other hobbies too, I don’t think it should be frowned upon to deliberately quit an activity when we choose to spend our time in another way.

Over winter break, when I run into family-friends around town, they often ask how my music was going. When I tell them I don’t practice my violin and viola as much as I used to, they seem sad for me and ask if I regret my choice not to attend Juilliard. I explain to them that (99% of the time) I’m happy with the choice I made as a high school senior to expand my college education and career beyond music. Conversations about my progress with music make me feel judged, as if my choice not to pursue music is somehow wasteful or shameful. I almost made my New Year's resolution to practice my instrument every day like I used to, but then I realized that practicing more is not what I want. I think I was tempted to make that resolution anyway because of the pressure I put on myself to live up to the expectations of my home and Princeton communities.

Some of us have stand-out skills that we can attribute our Princeton acceptance to. Even when I came to Princeton Preview, it was clear that almost everyone I met seemed to have their own “thing” that they were the best at, but do we have an unwritten responsibility to stay committed to those skills throughout college? Does it make a difference if we did an activity because we loved it or because we knew that skill would help us get into Princeton? The way I see it, we don’t have an obligation to do the things that helped get us into Princeton. We do, however, have an obligation to ourselves to choose the activities that we find value or happiness in. Even students who were recruited to fill a niche position on a team are multifaceted; their acceptance is not retroactively contingent on what activities they choose to continue.

I remember how unfair some students thought it was for a varsity recruit to quit his or her sport after freshman year. While it’s ideal for recruits to remain committed to the sport they intended to play at Princeton, they may be pressured to stay on the team all four years but shouldn’t be ostracized if they have a change of priorities. If they no longer see the long-term purpose of training so hard on top of schoolwork or if they decide that it’s not how they want to spend their time, who are we to say what’s best for them?

Quitting is realistic and natural. In fact, I would even argue that making the choice to quit shows maturity and control over one’s future, especially if one is giving up something he or she is really talented at. Many of Princeton’s varsity athletes, singers, dancers, journalists, actors and musicians probably won’t become professionals. Whether we eventually quit those activities entirely or keep them as a hobbies, I hope our choice is a result of careful scrutiny and self-reflection. We shouldn’t let ourselves feel guilty for choosing the extent to which we keep a talent or passion in our lives. This decision is just the first step toward lifelong learning that cultivates an interesting, rich perspective.

While we owe excellence to Princeton, Princeton also owes us whatever experience we seek. Yes, we shouldn’t make commitments we can’t keep, but we should use college as a time to explore and reach our fullest potential in more areas than our primary skill. To foster this, we should stop judging each other for abandoning activities that are no longer as important as they once were, regardless of talent. Our goals are allowed to change contrary to expectations, and once I accepted that, it became easier for me to be fully happy with my decision to play music for enjoyment instead of as a career.

In the age of specialization, our specialty may have helped open the door to a Princeton degree. However, our university doesn’t just graduate students who are experts in one field. We are supposed to be multitalented and add more to the Princeton fabric than just playing a great concert or throwing a winning touchdown. I like to think that many of us are Renaissance men and women who have more to offer than a single specialty.

So R.I.P. to the activities we were once known for. It’s important to consider the impact we wish to make at Princeton, but in 2016 I’d like to challenge every one of us to reflect and make sure we are spending our time doing what we want — not what others want for us.