Appreciate Harvard Yard

Harvard Yard is a beautiful place; it is chaotic neutral.

In my head, the Yard could be compared to Times Square—if all the billboards were replaced by engraved brick buildings, and the costumed performers replaced by squirrels (can you tell I haven’t been to Times Square?). It really is a bubble, even though most days the gates are wide open, they never call my name. 

Harvard Yard, composed of the Old Yard and Tercentenary Theatre, lies in the middle of the bustling streets of Cambridge. A place where, at 8:58 a.m., students drag themselves to the Science Center for 9 a.m. classes. At 9:30 a.m., a parent accompanies a toddler to daycare on a bike; at 2:46 p.m., students loiter; and at 3 p.m., the local high schoolers raid the Yard with tour groups, bikes, and dog walkers scattered throughout the day in between. It is the epicenter of the square, the stomping grounds for many, fading into the background of life for most. But once in a while, the student body needs to slow down and become the tourists themselves. 

Harvard College first-years, especially, need to appreciate the Yard: they have the unique opportunity to make what seems like a bustling microcosm into a home, to incorporate its subtle intimacies into their daily routine. 

To the incoming first years, appreciate the days when the gates are closed to outsiders, and the Yard will be all yours. Remember to stop, take a deep breath, look around, and look up. You are a Harvard student. You belong to this institution, and part of this Yard will always belong to you. Your complaints about scaling the Matthews Hall stairs carry the weight of decades of students; you are joining a long legacy, both its successes and its failures. Slow down and cherish the Yard’s grandeur and beauty; I promise you it exists, even in the disgusting February gray. 

This moment of awe could come to you on a beautiful fall day early in the semester, on a cold walk back from a 7 p.m. final in December, or maybe it will wait until you move out, a gentle “see you later,” before you pass by the Yard next fall, when it is no longer your home. In these moments around the Yard, you will feel like the world is your oyster—treasure it. 

For me, this moment always came while sitting on the ledges of Widener Library, no matter the season. I’ve always been a balcony-type of person. Put me on a stable ledge, literally two feet off the ground, and I’ll feel inspired. It is here where I—and you—will realize how small you are. And with this, the problems you currently face no longer feel as significant or as heavy. If this ledge finds you midday with some friends, you may insist on working outside to be performative for the tourists, but deep down, you just want to dangle your feet over the edge. If it finds you at night, you will have a long, vulnerable conversation about life, where at some point you will lean back and watch the handful of stars that twinkle through the skyglow. You will realize how intricate the carvings on the column capitals are, and from then onward, you will look up more, appreciating the inconspicuous details of the Yard. My last ledge chat as a first-year consisted of eating a slice of Pinocchio’s pizza with a friend the night before we moved out—highly recommend. 

Do not forget to appreciate the “freshman canon” in whatever form this takes for you. Do the cringey weird stuff: you’re only this young once—and remember, since you now have the Harvard name behind you, you will not fall into the “dumb” category, irrespective of your choices (though this is not a green light for a free-for-all). Partake in Primal Scream, or watch from afar. Climb John Harvard at four o’clock in the morning, or do so at noon for the tourists to watch (without the rest of the tradition, of course). Walk through tourists’ photographs, asserting your dominance—or if you’re feeling nice, walk around. Your Yard, your rules. 

Appreciate the convenience; you might not ever live that close to your friends again. Appreciate the meet-up spot that one day formed without words, where the “Meet in 5?” text is enough to summon the group chat. Use that time to look around, and appreciate the familiar faces scattered around that slowly added up through your mealtimes at Annenberg. Appreciate the moments that feel like a university pamphlet: your friends scattered around a picnic blanket, throwing a football through the trees in front of Hollis Hall; they’re on there for a reason. Feel the hidden solidarity. Even if you live in the butt of the dorm jokes (shoutout Canaday), the Yard loves you. 

Appreciate the tourists. No really. Appreciate the tourist who tries to tail you as you enter a dorm because, trust, they are not committed enough to do so in the Quad. Tourists remind us that we are living someone’s dream; no matter how heavy that burden is, we need to carry it proudly. The eyes of the whole world will always be on us, especially in the Yard, so embrace it. In the grand scheme of things, the mindset of a tourist is what got us here. The tourists are nosy and insistent, so channel that energy going forward; just like a tourist, maybe one day you’ll find a kind stranger who is willing to answer your questions and open up a whole new perspective. 

Appreciate the seasons, find the beauty in each. As someone who grew up in Massachusetts, I find that the blessing of experiencing four seasons slowly fades into the background of life, and yet when you stop to notice them, the beauty of the world is enhanced; you are allowed to be in awe. So be silly with it. 

Go up to your friend’s room on the fifth floor just to watch the sunset peek through the ever-changing colors of the fall leaves, then jump in piles of said crispy leaves before Yard Operations picks them all up. Go outside during the first snowfall, even if you have a midterm the next day. Throw lumpy snowballs at each other. Find yourself a sled (a Harvard University Dining Services tray will do), and sled down Widener until the Harvard University Police Department drives by and forces you away—or until your pants are soaking wet. Run through the first downpour of spring, the air heavy with the temptations of summer, because that feeling of potential will leave faster than your next problem set is due. Pick a tree outside your dorm window, and look at it, not through it, recognize how quickly it changes while somehow staying the same. The tree will stay rooted in the Yard for as long as the Yard continues to be, and part of you will remain with that tree. 

Appreciate the waves of emotion you feel, and be grateful to be allowed to experience the spectrum. Make sure your highs are as high as they can be, high enough to wash the lows away, as there will be plenty. Be ready to get humbled, because the imposter syndrome will hit, but if you let it define you, you will get nowhere. Wallow in your sadness, maybe against Memorial Church, but eventually you have to get up and climb the metaphorical Widener steps of your Harvard journey. One day, even if you can’t see it, you will reach that top edge, sit down, dangle your feet, and watch the Yard of your journey below you. 

As I handed in the keys to my freshman dorm, the walk back allowed me to appreciate the beauty of the Yard one last time before it wasn’t fully mine anymore. I said my goodbyes to friends I had spontaneously run into and walked towards Canaday, the setting sun beaming through the finally blooming trees. The steps of Widener were filled with people, hopefully sitting with no care in the world, maybe dangling their feet over the edge. A girl was playing the guitar on the steps of Memorial Church, while a group of friends played frisbee nearby, with tourists walking in between. Chaotic neutral. 

To the first-years who will soon live outside the Yard, do not forget to come visit. The “trek” is worthwhile. 

Sarahluna Sassine ’29 (ssassine@college.harvard.edu) wishes she were writing this from the top of a Widener Library ledge, feet dangling off the edge.