Cassidy Arrington

Years ago, a mentor told me that the best advice she ever received was to be a sponge. “Shamelessly soak up everything you can,” she advised, “Be unabashed in taking it all. Be a relentless kleptomaniac.”

At Yale, we’re taught to take it all. It begins on our first day. No, in fact, even before our first day — in the brochure of events for Bulldog Days, through the inundation of spreadsheeted, hyperlinked resources during Camp Yale and amongst our peers. The tempo of Yale kicks off strong and only crescendos with every College Tea, Guest Curator email and Instagrammable gubernatorial candidate selfie. Our professors, mentors, friends and families repeat the words we’ve already heard: make the most of it. 

This culture turned me into a “min-maxer” — someone who, in video game terminology, attempts to minimize weak traits and maximize efficient ones. 

Feeling like I was running on borrowed time, I started min-maxing my life. I downloaded Google Calendar and got to organizing, attempting to fill up blank space like it was a coloring book. I answered emails on the speedwalks to and from class, chose study locations from ‘Top 10 spots at Yale’ compilations and signed up for every mailing list. I set timers for eight hours when it was time for bed, scheduled breakfast dates and wanted to hit every restaurant. Fueled by caffeine and FOMO, I became a sponge. 

And being a sponge was exhausting. 

By October of my sophomore year, I was already burnt out. I wrote myself an unpublished op-ed to reflect. Here’s an excerpt:

“Six classes, two on-campus jobs, leadership in two clubs, a part-time internship. Sound familiar? If not, I hate to break the news: this is probably you. Commitment upon commitment upon commitment, but what for? I don’t know when I learned to schedule all of my time, when I started presenting myself as eternally busy. But I feel stuck, like an object in motion: perpetually hurtling at a speed I am unprepared for, driven by an unknown force.”

That unknown force was the culture of taking, and according to Newton’s Third Law, only an equal and opposite force could stop it. In my case, the opposite force was learning to give.

I shed classes and commitments for spaces where providing, not taking, was the norm. I joined Matriculate, a college access program that pairs volunteer college students with low-income high schoolers. My advisees were brilliant and talented, and they showed me how to persevere. As I ran shifts for campus nonprofits, I was no longer thinking about every missed opportunity. Lastly, becoming a FroCo was the best decision I’ve ever made; my first-years brought me boundless joy and shaped me into the person I am today. I found peace and happiness with my un-optimized life.

When I think back on my time at Yale, I don’t think of the guest speakers, the extravagant dinners or the professors that moonlight as ambassadors. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be marveling for years at what we get to do in this special campus of ours, at the opportunities Yale creates for us to take. But in my time as a senior interviewer for Yale Admissions, applicants often ask me what I’ll miss the most. And as special as it is to see your favorite author read excerpts from his latest work, what I’ll remember is the time and people I gave to, who gave me so much back in return. 

A few days ago, my College Dean asked me the dreaded question. “Have you gotten everything you’ve wanted from your time at Yale?” And as I grocery shop this week for cookie-baking ingredients to give to friends, I think maybe, I have.

Grace Jin is a graduating senior in Pierson College. Contact her at g.jin@yale.edu.

GRACE JIN