It's March in upstate New York. I step outside into the sharp winter morning air to grab a coffee from the cafe on the engineering quad, then quickly return to finish studying for a prelim exam in the afternoon.
The engineering library, which my friends refer to fondly as the graveyard, strangely has no books. It looks as it did when I left at midnight yesterday — rows of utilitarian tables filled with macbooks, chargers, papers and coffee cups. The “late crowd” was just starting to leave when I arrived at 5am to finish a problem set for another class, trickling out to catch a few precious hours of sleep before sunrise. A perpetual aura of sadness weighs heavily around us, accompanied by the musty odor of decade-old computer lab chairs and carpeting.
Back at the library, another student is taking a smoke break outside. He finishes his cigarette and reaches into his pocket for another. I notice the venti black iced coffee on the bench next to him, completely free of perspiration in the subzero temperatures.
He's in my grad school cohort, but I don't know his name. Most of my classmates know each other from undergrad, where they studied math at the same three universities in China. We make eye contact and nod, unsmiling, in habitual recognition.
For a moment, I wonder if the acknowledgment goes deeper. It's a gesture of mutual resignation and surrender, an awareness that we're stuck in the same rickety boat, in the same tumultuous ocean. I want to laugh at the absurdity we've trapped ourselves in. We're both pushing towards some hopelessly abstract finish line, pumping ourselves with stimulants to thwart any slowdown or distraction.
I dismiss the thought immediately and hurry past him. We're all alone here, climbing the mountain in solitude. Taking even a moment to question whether or not it's worth it is weakness. It's an opportunity — an invitation — for the boulder to crush you and pin you down, eliminating any chance you will ever stand again, let alone finish climbing. So, I snuff out the thought and return my focus to the slow Sisyphean grind, desperately grasping for the mental lifeline that it's possible to reach the top of the mountain, and that the view will be worth it.
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