Life after Princeton: Find meaning in the mundane
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit a piece to the Opinion section, click here.
Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Princetonian's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
7 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit a piece to the Opinion section, click here.
After a successful fall semester living in New York, I couldn’t wait to get back to Arkansas to see my family. My younger brother had just completed his first semester of college, and my mother had had great success in expanding her cleaning business. All very good things. However, I didn’t expect to be sent into a whirlwind of uncertainty and stress when, the day after I came home, my mother contracted COVID-19.
While casually scrolling Facebook (for the hundredth time that day), I noticed a meme about looking like a busted can of biscuits when it comes time to go back to work, to go to the beach, go outside, etc. The comments underneath talked about how “disgusting” people would look going out to these activities and how this pandemic was good for forcing yourself to diet. I was struck with a wave of sadness.
As I returned home last week, Arkansas public schools announced they would close amid the COVID-19 pandemic. Almost immediately, high school classmates and community members posted on Facebook that they would be available to babysit kids whose parents couldn’t access child care. I even mentioned to my mother that I would like to do the same, because I knew the schools closing would wreak a devastating blow on parents who cannot afford to take time off from work.
I am an okay student. Not exceptional. Not extraordinary. Just okay. While much of the university culture discourages this honesty through fueling a competitive spirit, I’m here to tell you it’s okay to be okay.
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’ve found myself reflecting on the multitudes of privilege I’m gaining being a University student, and in three and a half short years, a University graduate. As a first-generation, low income student (FLI), coming to the University has been filled with innumerable blessings. These blessings are also equally weighed in guilt.
I remember walking into Richardson Auditorium during my Princeton Preview visit, my heart brimming with excitement and a pen in my hand to star every group I planned on auditioning for. As the show was about to start, the sound of heels and dress shoes clicking on the wooden stage filled the microphones. A single note was given. Each person took a deep breath, in unison of course, and out came the most beautiful harmony. The smiles never left their faces.