10 Things I “Love” About Harvard

Dear Harvard,

Given that it’s Valentine’s Day and all, and we have this entire season devoted to love, I figured it was an appropriate time to write this letter to you. Others are writing love letters to crushes and situationships, but you—arguably my most intense relationship—deserve one too. After all, I’ve given you more time, sleep, and formative years of my life than any other relationship. It would be rude not to acknowledge such a serious commitment. And like most serious commitments, this one too requires honesty, even if it isn’t always flattering. 

So here it is. My ode, my ballad, my love letter to you: Harvard.

I love the way you never let me feel too comfortable. From the moment I arrived, you made it clear that belonging here is not a permanent state, but rather a daily negotiation. Surrounded by geniuses who treat changing the world like just another extracurricular, I feel constant imposter syndrome—and it pushes me to do more. I feel like I’m never the only one—there’s always competition. Comfort is fleeting, and confidence feels provisional, both things easily revoked by the next class, room, or reminder that someone else is doing just a little bit more. Thank you for that. Nothing says love like a constant, subtle fear of not being enough.

I love the way every conversation here turns into a networking opportunity. Five minutes into what I think is a casual chat—scratch that, two minutes—I realize all we’ve talked about are things covered by our resumes. It’s nice knowing no interaction will ever be wasted; every coffee, section, and new introduction is a potential new LinkedIn connection. I’ve learned how to speak more fluently about myself, whether I’m ready to or not. Somewhere along the way, curiosity started to feel strategic, and small talk became a necessary skill rather than a pleasant pause. “To be loved is to be changed,” or so they say.

I love the way you show me things I didn’t even know I wanted. I arrived with vague notions: curiosity, learning, happiness. I’m leaving with clear ideas, knowing much more about the ideal career paths of consulting, investment banking, tech sales, and other jobs I couldn’t have explained at eighteen. You have a talent for clarifying ambition and making certain paths feel inevitable. It’s efficient. Persuasive. Hard to resist, in the way any good attraction is.

I love how indefatigable you make me. My calendar must be full for me to feel fulfilled, and space is suspicious—something to be filled, optimized, improved. Exhaustion becomes proof of commitment, and being busy turns into a moral virtue instead of simply a condition. You’ve taught me that relaxation is indulgent and rest is earned. I’m undeniably more productive now. We should always push each other to achieve more.

I love the way you make me appreciate my home so much more. I despise your weather, and how it consumes me for half of the school year. The cold that seemingly cuts through you on the way to class, the way the sun sets at 4 p.m. when the grayness settles for weeks at a time. It builds character, I think. Or at least it makes me appreciate the warmth of California. I wasn’t grateful enough while I had all of that sunshine. So thank you for reminding me not to take it all for granted. 

I love the way time moves so quickly here. Weeks disappear within seconds into p-sets, meetings, and deadlines, while individual moments—bad grades, rejection emails, long walks back to the Quad—stretch endlessly. To hate you is to always be aware that this is temporary, that semesters are counting down, that one day this relationship will end, whether I’m ready or not, and that that day is coming sooner rather than later.

Perhaps what I hate about you is that I can never truly hate you—maybe a little, but not entirely.

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I didn’t love you. If I had chosen somewhere calmer, kinder. I imagine a version of myself who sleeps more, worries less, and compares herself less to others. But then I remember: this is what love is supposed to do. Challenge you. Push you. Make you better. Isn’t it? Nothing good comes easy, right?

I love how much I complain about you—practically my love language. In good company, I criticize you constantly, loudly, and creatively. This works as long as the frustration stays internal. The moment someone else steps up to bat, I rush to your defense. Only I get to be frustrated with you, because no one else cares about you as much as I do.

Mostly, I hate the way that despite all of this, I truly do love you. I love the way you’ve taught me that exhaustion can be worth it, pressure is purposeful, and becoming someone new is better than never changing at all. I love the way you frustrate me, challenge me, and most of all, help me grow. In the end, that’s the feeling I will carry with me.

Love, Heidi Heffelfinger ’26 (heidiheffelfinger@college.harvard.edu).