Julie Plummer – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com Breaking news from the Farm since 1892 Sat, 10 Mar 2018 01:50:39 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.3 https://stanforddaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/cropped-DailyIcon-CardinalRed.png?w=32 Julie Plummer – The Stanford Daily https://stanforddaily.com 32 32 204779320 VSCO and Instagram: Photo-sharing in the age of social media https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/14/magazine-vsco-and-instagram-photo-sharing-in-the-age-of-social-media/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/14/magazine-vsco-and-instagram-photo-sharing-in-the-age-of-social-media/#respond Sat, 14 Oct 2017 17:49:53 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1129818 I have always had a fear of losing memories. Generally, this manifests itself in journaling – a way for me to combine my love of writing with my anxiety around forgetting precious moments in my life, all in one messy jumble of thoughts, quotes, and people from my days. But I also have a secret […]

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I have always had a fear of losing memories. Generally, this manifests itself in journaling – a way for me to combine my love of writing with my anxiety around forgetting precious moments in my life, all in one messy jumble of thoughts, quotes, and people from my days. But I also have a secret love of photographs. The idea that an entire experience can be contained in a single image is beautiful to me.

I took a camping trip with a close friend this past summer, and I recently returned to a photograph of our tent nestled between a grove of pine trees. Immediately, the cool forest air was in my nostrils, the crunch of leaves in my ears, the smooth wood of the log seats on my hands. I don’t mean to say that this visceral return to a specific moment in time cannot be achieved through writing, but I think our photographs carry a special sort of nostalgia that tugs us back to who we were when the picture was taken.

When I relayed this secret obsession with photography to a friend awhile ago, she told me to get an Instagram. Instagram, she told me, would allow me to share my life with my friends, capturing the moments that were most important to me and letting others see them as well.

While I understood what she was trying to say, when I got an Instagram, I soon realized it was not for me, and ultimately deleted my account. I liked seeing my friends’ photos, but I felt too much pressure to conform to the Instagram-norm of perfectly tailored pictures and carefully selected captions. The social aspect of Instagram also stressed me out – all of my close friends had extremely high numbers of followers and pages they were following, and I was used to hearing their complaints when a picture didn’t get as many likes as they’d hoped.

I’m not trying to completely undermine Instagram’s merits. I understand that it’s a very successful social media platform, and I respect friends who enjoy using it. But something about it didn’t really click with me and the way that I interact with the world. Soon after my failed attempt to use Instagram, however, and right before I began my freshman year of college, I came across VSCO.

VSCO and Instagram: Photo-sharing in the age of social media
(JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

Somewhat similar to Instagram, VSCO is a photography app that allows users to upload and edit pictures. However, VSCO has virtually none of the social media elements that Instagram boasts. While you can follow another user’s account, there’s no way to see how many followers others have or to like or comment on another user’s photographs. Because of this, it’s a much less interactive interface than Instagram.

For me, however, VSCO became the perfect catharsis at the end of a long day. If I hadn’t uploaded pictures in awhile, I’d snuggle up in bed and upload some photographs from past adventures. There was something so satisfying about listening to good music, flipping through fun memories on my phone, and adding cool filters and lighting to places and people I love. For someone who fears losing memories, VSCO became the perfect way to create a visual diary of the great times I’d had throughout my first year at school.

I didn’t feel any of the pressure I had on Instagram to pick perfectly curated pictures that I thought my friends would enjoy or that fit the Instagram standards of editing perfection. Editing and posting on VSCO felt much more like a personal process that allowed me to reflect on what moments in my recent history had been important to me. And for somebody who loves keeping journals, VSCO became a wonderful alternative to a written journal during the year when I didn’t always have the time or energy to sit down and write.

But despite my enthusiasm for VSCO, Instagram remains vastly more popular. When I talked to a classmate at Stanford about this, she explained that for her, Instagram simply felt better for our age group – a simpler, easier way to interact with friends than platforms like Facebook, while still allowing individuals to message each other and talk directly.

This difference between VSCO and Instagram is mainly one of function: one of Instagram’s main purposes is to allow for connection between users. VSCO has ways to foster collaboration – you can add other people’s images to your “collection” and thus share photos between users. However, its main focus, from my understanding, is more one of individual creation.

Don’t get me wrong – there’s definitely something powerful about this creation, and VSCO has a main feed in which it reposts various photographs from VSCO users across the world, creating a beautiful collage of individual worlds coming together. But when it comes to a platform that easily facilitates connection with people you already know, Instagram is a much better option.

VSCO and Instagram: Photo-sharing in the age of social media
(JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

When individuals my age meet for the first time, a common method of connection is to collect each other’s social media accounts. Instagram usually makes this cut, while VSCO never does. Given that my generation is a huge percentage of the current population of social media users, and knowing how much my peers and I value social connectivity, I doubt that VSCO will ever achieve the same level of popularity as Instagram unless they vastly change their interface (which, in my opinion, would remove a lot of the merits unique to VSCO).

However, I think VSCO still has the potential to serve as a powerful alternative to Instagram as a photo-sharing app without some of the perceived pressure that comes with curating a highly social online presence. And while there are ways to use Instagram without being overwhelmed by the social aspects of the platform, VSCO’s more understated presence in each user’s life reminds us that collaboration and creation can take many different forms.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Six poems for anyone who needs a fall quarter boost https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/05/seven-poems-for-anyone-who-needs-a-fall-quarter-boost/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/10/05/seven-poems-for-anyone-who-needs-a-fall-quarter-boost/#respond Thu, 05 Oct 2017 13:46:57 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1130640 Fall is a time of transition: Summer has somehow slipped through our sweaty fingers, everything is beginning anew on campus and our classes demand our time and energy again. When I arrived back at Stanford, even as a non-frosh, I felt sort of unsteady adjusting back to the life I’d put on hold since June. […]

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Six poems for anyone who needs a fall quarter boost
(JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

Fall is a time of transition: Summer has somehow slipped through our sweaty fingers, everything is beginning anew on campus and our classes demand our time and energy again. When I arrived back at Stanford, even as a non-frosh, I felt sort of unsteady adjusting back to the life I’d put on hold since June. Because I’m somebody who gets a lot of comfort from words, I turned to some of the books of short poetry I’d brought with me to school.

Flipping through the pages of my sticky note-filled books, I felt an incredible sense of home in the words I read. From my experience, sometimes the most simple poetry can speak volumes in its brevity and grace, and rediscovering poems I’d read for the first time while living on campus last year made the transition back to college feel more like a return to home. So, for anybody feeling sort of overwhelmed by the start of fall quarter, here are some of the poems that brought me comfort as I started this year.

1. A time-relevant reminder that starting over can be a good thing:

          the leaves are going to change.

          the leaves are going to spiral to the ground.

          the leaves are going to return better than ever before.

          & darling, so are you.

          so are you.

          (Amanda Lovelace, “autumn certainties,” from “the princess saves herself in this one”)

 

2. Two lines that speak volumes about having faith that love never dies:

          There will be more love.

          There will be more love.

          (Yrsa Daley-Ward, untitled, from “bone”)

 

3. A beautiful way of describing the art of being patient with yourself as you navigate change:

          be easy.

          take your time.

          you are coming home.

          to yourself.

          (Nayyirah Waheed, “the becoming,” from “salt”)

 

4. On believing in the magic of tomorrow even if today sucks:

          Don’t give up now,

          chances are

          your best kiss

          your hardest laugh

          and your greatest day

          are still yet to come.

          (atticus, untitled, from “love her wild”)

 

5. A poem about accepting that it’s okay to break sometimes:

          in our own ways

          we all break.

          it is okay

          to hold your heart outside of your body

          for

          days.

          months.

          years.

          at a time.

         (Nayyirah Waheed, “heal,” from “salt”)

 

6. And finally, a reminder of what’s important in life:

          most importantly love

          like it’s the only thing you know how

          at the end of the day all this

          means nothing

          this page

          where you’re sitting

          your degree

          your job

          the money

          nothing even matters

          except love and human connection

          who you loved

          and how deeply you loved them

          how you touched the people around you

          and how much you gave them

(Rupi Kaur, untitled, from “milk and honey”)

 

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Why I love the handwritten word https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/30/why-i-love-the-handwritten-word/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/30/why-i-love-the-handwritten-word/#respond Tue, 30 May 2017 09:32:37 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1128640 Last week, I went to a concert in San Francisco with my roommate to see a folk artist in an 18+ bar. After an eventful late night drive of missed turns and near crashes with crazy city drivers, we entered the bar to see a room of people mostly in their twenties, spread lazily across […]

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Last week, I went to a concert in San Francisco with my roommate to see a folk artist in an 18+ bar. After an eventful late night drive of missed turns and near crashes with crazy city drivers, we entered the bar to see a room of people mostly in their twenties, spread lazily across a collection of high tables.

At the front of the room was a stage with the musical equipment already set up. As all of the tables were full, we decided to opt for sitting cross-legged on the wide expanse of floor in front of the stage. To our surprise, as the concert got closer to starting, more and more people began to migrate to the floor, until a room full of adults was sitting cross legged on the hard floor, looking up eagerly at the stage like children waiting excitedly for a show to start.

As I glanced around at hipster looking, twenty-something men sitting like equals with elderly couples and college students like myself, I felt like some beautiful levelling had occurred. Just this once, inside this darkened room, people of all different walks of life could simply breathe together and enjoy some peaceful music without worrying about anything else.

As the musicians began to perform, I noticed the woman next to me pull out a tattered notebook from her purse and begin to write. She drew beautiful pictures in the margins of her notebook that related to the song lyrics of the music playing, and writing in a beautiful calligraphic script, quoted some of the lyrics of that were being sung. Without trying to be too nosy, I became secretly obsessed with subtly glancing over at her journal throughout the concert, noticing that sometimes she would create webs from the lyrics she recorded, writing names or other words that I assume she associated with the lyrics from the song. The result was beautiful — a confusing and complicated jumble of words and jagged lines and illustrations creating a visual representation of her experience at the concert.

Observing this woman and her unique way of interacting with the live music was a very powerful experience. While it brought up many things for me — the ways that individuals differ in how we experience the world around us, the power of shared words, the fact that I wish I could draw better — I mostly came away feeling overwhelmed by how powerful handwritten things can be.

I personally love to handwrite, and my friends at Stanford laughed at me when they realized that I keep a planner. The standard response to this is, “Don’t you know what Google Calendar is??” Yes, I do. But to me, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as handwriting a to-do list and making a clean neat check in a handwritten box when I finish something I needed to do. It’s a feeling that Google Calendar can’t replicate. Each Sunday night, I sit down with my planner for about fifteen minutes, listen to my favorite music and fill in the pages for the next week, highlighting and creating task lists and reminders to myself. This time allows me to decompress, get ready for the next week, and feel like I’m getting a couple minutes just to connect back with myself.

What I love most about handwriting is how much it can express our individuality. The woman at the concert next to me drew tears falling from some of the letters of a particularly sad song, with jagged lines for the letters as though the writer was shaking when she wrote the heart-breaking words. I’d never have thought to interact with the lyrics of the concert in this way, but it was beautiful that this woman chose to express herself like that. And if you compare my planner to the planners of my (few) peers who also keep planners, I’m sure you’d find that we all choose to interact with the page in extremely different ways.

While Google Calendar might be a more efficient way of keeping track of your time, nothing will quite beat the jumble of handwritten notes in a paper planner. To me, seeing other people’s handwriting is like a snapshot into them: How they interact with the page, what the letters they form look like, what words they choose to express themselves. So while others might push for Google Calendaring and communication only via online networks, I will also love the beauty in the handwritten word.
Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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On claiming identities https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/23/on-claiming-identities/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/23/on-claiming-identities/#respond Tue, 23 May 2017 09:17:22 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127893 Recently, I attended a writing colloquium on Stanford campus. As I settled into a hard-backed chair and looked around at the fellow attendees, I was immediately intimidated. The room was full of writers who had come to the colloquium to learn and discuss. They looked like, well, writers. Many sported wide-framed glasses, some with edgy […]

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Recently, I attended a writing colloquium on Stanford campus. As I settled into a hard-backed chair and looked around at the fellow attendees, I was immediately intimidated.

The room was full of writers who had come to the colloquium to learn and discuss. They looked like, well, writers. Many sported wide-framed glasses, some with edgy piercings, tattoos or haircuts. A young twenty something woman sat next to me, writing notes in a leather notebook, scrawling beautifully in calligraphic font. As I looked around me, I wondered why I felt intimidated by a room full of what looked like very nice people.

As I pondered this question later, I realized that much of my feelings of being overwhelmed stemmed from the fact that I’ve never really felt comfortable claiming the identity of a “writer.” I don’t know where this discomfort stems from. Even though I’ve loved to write for most of my life, I’ve never felt comfortable calling myself a writer. When I personally hear the word “writer,” I immediately think of literary greats and their works, and it feels wrong to use the same term for myself that I use to refer to writers whose books sit in thousands of libraries across the world.

What makes us comfortable claiming an identity? Recently I was talking to a friend who is a CS major at Stanford, and she expressed to me that she at times feels weird claiming the title of a “CS Major” when there seem to be so many more qualified people also majoring in CS. She acknowledged that it was silly to feel hesitant to claim a title just because others might come into the major with more qualifications. But it’s easy to fall into the trap of comparison: If claiming a certain title means that you fall into the same bucket as some mega-talented and accomplished individual, it can be intimidating to confidently say that you belong there too.

When I was in elementary school, one of my favorite (admittedly cliché) quotes was “A flower does not think of competing with the flower next to it. It just blooms” (Zen Shin). While this philosophy is beautiful, it’s admittedly difficult to employ in your everyday life. We compare constantly, a theme engrained in our popular media. Magazines bombard us with questions about “Who wore it better?”, Jeopardy contestants compete to see who knows more facts about the world, and reality television shows like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette actively pit men and women against each other to “compete” for the star of the season. Comparison is difficult to escape.

However, I think it becomes problematic when we allow comparison to get in the way of how we identify ourselves. Not taking on the identity of a “writer” simply because I feel that there are more talented writers that are more deserving of that title is silly, just as avoiding proclaiming your major because others in that major appear to be more accomplished undermines your own passion. While it’s important to be humble and acknowledge that we can learn from those that are better than us in a given field, it’s also important to validate our own identities and remember that “the greats” started out just like us.

So the next time you feel intimidated to claim an identity, have more confidence in yourself. Be proud of the things that you’re passionate about.  

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

 

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Making connections the old-fashioned way https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/17/making-connections-the-old-fashioned-way/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/17/making-connections-the-old-fashioned-way/#respond Wed, 17 May 2017 09:33:21 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127600 A couple of weekends ago, I took a much-needed beach trip with a couple of friends. After a wonderful day laying out in the sun and frolicking in the chilly California water, one of my friends glanced down at the backs of my legs and said, “Dude, your legs look kind of red.” I groaned […]

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A couple of weekends ago, I took a much-needed beach trip with a couple of friends. After a wonderful day laying out in the sun and frolicking in the chilly California water, one of my friends glanced down at the backs of my legs and said, “Dude, your legs look kind of red.” I groaned and glanced down, unsurprised to see the bright red kiss of the sun streaking up the backs of both legs. I get sunburned a lot (unfortunately). I’m very familiar with the sunburn routine – aloe, aloe aloe, peel, peel peel.

Making connections the old-fashioned wayBut what was surprising this time was the Rorschach-like white splotches that broke up the angry red burn – the few places I had successfully placed sunscreen on my skin. The placement of the splotches was so odd-looking that when I got back to my dorm, classmates stopped me to try to figure out what it looked like. I got asked if I burned my legs in that pattern “on purpose” and what I had intended the burn to look like. While I found these queries amusing (I had most definitely not burned my legs on purpose) it was also entertaining to me that my sunburn seemed to have broken down walls between me and the dorm-mates with whom hadn’t talked much this year.

Several days later, I was walking around Lake Lag with a friend talking about something that had been on my mind a lot recently when we heard a girl crying on one of the benches. We decided we should probably stop and talk to her, and it turned out that she was experiencing a lot of what I had been going through as well. The two of us talked for about half an hour, and it was incredible to have coincidentally found somebody with whom I connected so well. We exchanged numbers, and I left feeling a lot better about my situation. These two events happening so close together made me think about how we make connections with others, and the power of reaching out to people in person in our immediate surroundings.  

I understand the importance of networking and “making connections,” and I’m grateful for how easy that is in our modern technological society. If you are interested in a certain field, odds are you can find somebody you know who has a connection to that industry. And that’s incredibly powerful. But I think there’s something to be said for old-fashioned networking.

My intriguing sunburn turned into an odd form of making connections with people that I don’t know that well. Dorm-mates and people in classes would comment on the burn, and that conversation sometimes evolved into something more deep. Stopping to talk to a complete stranger at Lake Lag led to a truly meaningful conversation. I’m not advocating for people to go out and get sunburns (please wear sunscreen; my legs are still peeling two weeks later) but I do think there’s value in recognizing that sometimes we don’t need LinkedIn or Handshake to make the most valuable connections in life. Next time you see somebody wearing a cool hat or sporting an awesome nose ring, compliment them! Not only will you make their day, but you just might find a cool new friend.

 

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The pros of being stubborn https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/11/the-pros-of-being-stubborn/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/11/the-pros-of-being-stubborn/#respond Thu, 11 May 2017 10:55:57 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1127302 My freshman year at Stanford has been one of squeaky bike brakes. Starting about week two of fall quarter, the brakes on my (brand new) bike began making a god-awful screech every time I used them. It got to the point where I brought it up at dinner in my dorm one night and a […]

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My freshman year at Stanford has been one of squeaky bike brakes. Starting about week two of fall quarter, the brakes on my (brand new) bike began making a god-awful screech every time I used them. It got to the point where I brought it up at dinner in my dorm one night and a friend said, “Oh, yeah, I always know when you’re getting back to the dorm because I can hear your brakes.”

My solution to this problem was not to take the bike into the shop like a sane person, but instead to keep riding like normal, pressing the brakes hesitantly so that the screeches wouldn’t deafen passersby. This worked for most of the year, until the brakes themselves started to slowly deteriorate. This, also, did not convince me to take my bike into the shop, because the brakes still worked to some extent, and it didn’t feel absolutely essential to get the bike looked at.

That is, until one morning the first week of spring quarter when I was screaming down a steep hill and realized that I was pressing the brakes as hard as I could and the bike was not slowing. The end result sadly involved a light crash into a fellow classmate (both parties and bikes involved were fine). However, the incident finally convinced me that it was perhaps time to take my bike into the shop to get some working brakes.

Clearly, stubbornness has its downsides. Learning this the hard way was not, in fact, a pleasant experience.

I have been a fairly stubborn person for most of my life. I stick doggedly to arguments that don’t always make sense, even when friends have pointed out the logical loopholes in them, and I refuse to eat avocado because I “don’t like it” even though the last time I really tried it was in fifth grade.

This quality is something I’ve noticed in a lot of my peers at Stanford — this determination to stick to one’s position and defend one’s actions.

But while stubbornness definitely has a negative connotation in the English language, I think it is closely linked with persistence, and perhaps this is why it is so common among my peers. We are stubborn because we care, because we try, because we push ourselves to learn more and to do better.

And while this drive can perhaps be a negative thing at times, acting as an added stressor (we feel the need to constantly be better and do more things or be more involved in campus life), I think it is also one of the reasons why Stanford is such an amazing place to learn and grow. Being surrounded by students who are stubborn and persistent means being immersed in a student body of individuals who care deeply about what they’re doing and why they’re doing it.

So yes, it’s silly to be stubborn to the point where you’re screaming down a hill on a bike with no brakes. But sometimes stubbornness is underrated. After all, think about how you came to be at a place like Stanford: my guess is, partly because you didn’t give up and you stuck to your guns.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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A love letter to the rain https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/01/a-love-letter-to-the-rain/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/05/01/a-love-letter-to-the-rain/#respond Mon, 01 May 2017 14:08:14 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1126760 I wake up and my windows are wide-open, cold, fresh air pumping into my small dorm room. It smells crisp, clean and earthly, and I’m immediately wide-awake. When I walk out of the dorm, I’m greeted by sidewalks painted dark black by the precipitation, a cool breeze draping over my neck like a light scarf, […]

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I wake up and my windows are wide-open, cold, fresh air pumping into my small dorm room. It smells crisp, clean and earthly, and I’m immediately wide-awake.

When I walk out of the dorm, I’m greeted by sidewalks painted dark black by the precipitation, a cool breeze draping over my neck like a light scarf, and spherical droplets cradled in leaves sprawled across damp dirt. My feet splash through puddles of muddy water as I make my way to my bike to head to class.

A love letter to the rain
(JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

Days like these, I feel like my world has been amplified by the recent storm, like it is slightly brighter and clearer.

When I was a child, I’d spend hours in my driveway, jumping through shallow puddles and delighting in splashing water on my sister. At night, when I couldn’t sleep or was afraid of the demons that hid in the dark corners of my room, I’d listen to the soft pattering of rain on the skylight near my bed. Somehow the constant pattering of water droplets on the plastic over my head seemed like soft kisses from the outside world, lulling me to sleep.

The rain was a playmate and a comfort to my childhood self, and I loved the way that it would slowly turn the grass field outside my house from a straw yellow to a silky green, the way it brought out the strong scent of oak in the trees by my house, the way my hair would slowly dampen until it would hang limply around my head, swinging around as I ran through my childhood neighborhood.

I recently realized that my love of rain was not shared by all of my classmates. While I’ve lived in this area my entire life, the amount of rain the Bay Area has experienced this winter has definitely been above average.

When I talked to dorm-mates about this, they bemoaned the fact that they were supposed to be experiencing what they termed a “California winter,” which apparently included 0% precipitation and 100% sunshine every day. When I laughed and said that California had rainy days sometimes too, they glared at me and said, “This isn’t what I signed up for.” While I understand this opinion given the stereotypical image of a year-round sunny California, personally, I loved the barrage of rain this winter.

So to the rain that has blessed Stanford’s campus this winter: Thank you. Thank you for the memories you have given me — sprinting to the train station to try to make it to Big Game, sipping hot tea on gloomy days and watching rainbows appear on the far-away horizon, seeing Lake Lag slowly fill up and classmates attempt to raft in it.

Thank you for the lessons you have taught me. I learned that it is a good idea to buy a rain jacket and boots before the rainy season kicks in. I learned that sometimes all it takes is a little bit of water to bond with the people around you, because there’s nothing quite like a good rain shower to precipitate a bit of adventure. I learned that there is beauty in chaos when I drove to the beach with a friend and sat on the cold, wet sand overlooking a troubled sea violently meeting sheets of rain.

And I learned that there is no de-stressor quite like watching it rain lightly from somewhere dry and warm, pretending as though the water hitting the ground somehow washes away time and anxiety.

So while there are clear skies and sunshine in the forecast for a while, thanks for visiting campus this year. It might be an unpopular view, but my freshman year would not have been the same without you.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Sick at Stanford: A survival guide https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/24/sick-at-stanford-a-survival-guide/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/24/sick-at-stanford-a-survival-guide/#respond Mon, 24 Apr 2017 13:17:10 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1126328 One of the worst feelings in the world is groggily waking up in the middle of the night to notice that there’s a sharp soreness in the back of your throat. You swallow a couple of times, hoping that it will go away, but it persists, painful as ever. You dump your head back on […]

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One of the worst feelings in the world is groggily waking up in the middle of the night to notice that there’s a sharp soreness in the back of your throat. You swallow a couple of times, hoping that it will go away, but it persists, painful as ever. You dump your head back on your pillow in resignation, knowing that in the morning you will most likely wake up with a full-blown illness.

Sadly, this experience is slightly too familiar to me. Last week, I had strep throat, and as I was downing my first antibiotic, I decided to tally up the number of times I’d been sick since the start of my freshman year at Stanford. I came up with seven.

Yes, so far during my career at Stanford I’ve been sick roughly once a month.

While I’ve had too many stuffy noses to count this year, my two-plus quarters at Stanford as a human incubator for disease have taught me a few lessons on how to survive college while sick. So, without further ado, here’s a list of ways to cope with this unfortunate reality.

  1. Drink tea (lots of it). If you don’t have any in your dorm room (I highly recommend keeping a stash), hit up CoHo for some pomegranate oolong or a nice steaming chai tea latte.
  1. Force your roommate (or friend) to watch an episode of some trashy, funny TV show with you. When I’m sick, nothing quite gets my mind off my virus and the work I’m not getting done like snuggling up in a blanket to watch a favorite show with a friend.
  1. Get yourself out of your dorm room (depending on the severity of your sickness). Yes, sometimes simply staying in bed can be the most helpful thing for a speedy recovery. But I’ve also found that if I’m feeling only slightly crummy, getting myself out into the sunshine can be a good way of forgetting about my sickness and remembering that there’s a world outside of my stuffy dorm room. Take a walk around Lake Lag (while it still has water in it) or stroll over to Tresidder and sit out in the sun with some good food.
  1. Call home (or long distance friends at other colleges). Your family and friends miss you, and talking to loved ones on the phone can actually make you feel a lot better. I find that talking to my family when I’m sick always makes me feel like I’m back in high school and my mom is taking care of me. You deserve a little extra love when you’re under the weather.
  1. Sleep (a lot). Naps are amazing. Enough said.
  1. Do something that gives your mind a break. For me, that’s reading my favorite books, or journaling, but this could be anything from (light) yoga to binge watching a show to coloring to knitting or listening to music. While it can be stressful to think about the work that you’re getting behind on, it’s important to let your body recover and give yourself the time to recharge.
  1. Finally, make future plans to do something fun with friends. This has actually helped me a lot while sick, because it gives me something tangible to look forward to. Having something fun planned in the near future, when you know you’ll hopefully be feeling better, can make your current state of physical discomfort more bearable.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Stanford and humility https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/18/stanford-and-humility/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/18/stanford-and-humility/#respond Tue, 18 Apr 2017 11:35:20 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1126034 Stanford has a diverse student body of athletes, musicians, writers, performers, activists, chefs and artists. And yet, in some ways these diverse talents are not as visible as one might think. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve thought I know a peer well and am suddenly informed that they are a nationally-ranked […]

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Stanford has a diverse student body of athletes, musicians, writers, performers, activists, chefs and artists. And yet, in some ways these diverse talents are not as visible as one might think. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve thought I know a peer well and am suddenly informed that they are a nationally-ranked gymnast, or a winner of the Intel Science Talent Search competition, or an Olympic skier, or a professional actor (all real people I’ve met at Stanford). As I talked to peers about this, I realized that this experience of thinking you know somebody and then being shocked by some incredibly cool thing that they’ve done is extremely common.

Students at Stanford are very humble. And this can be an positive attribute in one’s peers, because it means that the environment that is created on campus is one that is welcoming. I talked to a close friend about this norm of modesty on campus, and she commented that she thinks it’s actually one of the reasons that she felt most comfortable adjusting to campus life. It’s normal not to feel like you belong at college when you first get there (something commonly called imposter syndrome). But a culture as humble as Stanford’s masks the accomplishments of one’s peers and makes it easier to feel more connected to the student body around you.

However, at the same time, when I do hear about the accomplishments of an acquaintance or even a close friend, I am filled with an equally deep appreciation for the school that I go to. It’s definitely inspiring to learn that somebody you thought you knew well has even more layers to them, that they’re even more brilliant than you first imagined. And usually, when I learn something incredible about a peer, I feel like I can suddenly understand them in a more powerful and holistic way. This contrast at Stanford, between the norm of modesty leading to a welcoming and inclusive environment and the power that exists in sharing our accomplishments with those around us, can be confusing.

At times, I’ve noticed that it can be easy to default to conversations with peers about topics around things we have in common — usually politics, food, or Stanford life. And while these conversations have definitely made me closer to my peers, I think it’s important to point out that they don’t highlight the differences that exist among us. At times, I think we are afraid to bring up topics that we know a lot about out of fear that we will come across like we are bragging. But some of the most interesting and thought-provoking conversations I’ve had at Stanford have been when somebody revealed their knowledge of some obscure, interesting field, and chose to share that passion with the rest of us. This honesty not only allows others to learn about something they might not otherwise be able to, but it also opens up the table for others at the table to share things they are passionate about (and probably also really good at). It might be impossible to strike a perfect balance between humility and open sharing among students at Stanford, but I will never grow tired of the challenging and engaging conversations that occur because of the diversity and drive of the students around me.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The Stanford bubble of positivity https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/10/the-stanford-bubble-of-positivity/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/04/10/the-stanford-bubble-of-positivity/#respond Tue, 11 Apr 2017 02:49:33 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1125612 Spring quarter at Stanford is a beautiful thing. As I biked to my first class of the quarter, I grinned as I felt the sunshine hit my back, soaking in the warmth and listening to the cheerful chirping of birds in the blossoming trees around me. I could see the excitement of the new quarter […]

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Spring quarter at Stanford is a beautiful thing. As I biked to my first class of the quarter, I grinned as I felt the sunshine hit my back, soaking in the warmth and listening to the cheerful chirping of birds in the blossoming trees around me. I could see the excitement of the new quarter on the faces of students biking past me: spring had sprung, and it seemed that on our beautiful California campus, nothing could bring the spirits of my fellow classmates down.

And yet, I think sometimes this sunny bubble of bright smiles and friendly hellos can make it difficult to express negative emotion. I was joking with a friend the other day that there’s a sort of script one follows when interacting with casual acquaintances:

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good! How are you?”

“I’m great! Have a good day, dude!”

“Thanks, you too!”

While there’s nothing inherently wrong with this interaction, and it’s certainly a pleasant exchange, it’s also a good example of the expectation of positivity on campus. Don’t get me wrong, one of the things I love most about Stanford is how friendly and welcoming virtually every single person I’ve met thus far during my time here has been. The fact that Stanford is a place with such a diverse student body that fosters such positive interactions among students makes it a truly wonderful learning environment. But I think it is important to consider what kinds of emotions are normally expressed to others on campus.

We have all heard of the Stanford “Duck Syndrome,” the idea that while students might seem calm and collected to their peers (like ducks floating peacefully across a pool of water), they are actually paddling furiously to stay afloat under the water, as they deal with the stress of managing academics, extra-curriculars and social life. This “Duck Syndrome” is closely related to the norm of positivity in interactions: coming across as happy, confident and chill projects a Stanford student who is competent and in full control of their life.

This norm of almost overwhelming happiness means that I occasionally find myself walking away from a conversation and feeling like I wasn’t fully honest with the person I was interacting with; it can be easy to put up a screen of false positivity in the context of the happy-go-lucky Stanford bubble.

We all have days where we feel low: getting a Stanford education and simultaneously managing all of our commitments is not an easy feat. And on these days, I think it is important to remember that it is okay to be vulnerable, and that vulnerability in our relationships with others actually enhances and strengthens those relationships. When we share more with other people, they in turn feel more comfortable sharing with us, and we can create a more honest community. I am as guilty as the next person when it comes to perpetuating this norm of sometimes false happiness, but I think if we begin to more consciously acknowledge this mode of interaction and the power in being more willing to share more negative feelings, our community can and will grow even stronger.
Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The language of Stanford students https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/31/the-language-of-stanford-students/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/31/the-language-of-stanford-students/#respond Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:59:13 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124830 Each individual’s lingo is, in some ways, a unique representation of one’s interactions with the world around them.

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Words are sneaky; they slip into our vocabularies when we’re not looking and become a regular part of how we talk. The other night, I was eating dinner in my dorm’s dining hall when somebody made a particularly amusing comment. My roommate, who was sitting next to me, responding by saying “lol,” at the same exact time that I said “lol” as well. The whole table laughed, because this was not an uncommon happenstance: I spend so much time with my roommate that we tend to say things in unison.

I’ve noticed that certain words my roommate says often have slipped into my vocabulary as well without me consciously acknowledging this happening. It took one of my dorm friends pointing this out for me to realize that there was a distinct overlap in our vocabularies. Thinking about how easily I had picked up my roommate’s lingo made me think about how much of a reflection of ourselves our vocabularies are — how we pick up words here and there from important people in our lives.

Each individual’s lingo is, in some ways, a unique representation of their interactions with the world around them. We take our language from our conversations with others, our interactions with online media, the songs that we listen to, even from the classrooms we sit in each day. Our daily experiences and interactions with others shape how we speak about our world itself. It is very powerful that an individual’s language is, in some ways, an amalgam of who they are as a person, a compilation of all of the people and experiences that are important to them.

In this way, the words that each individual uses are like a complex collection of the communities that they are a part of. These communities could be anything from clubs to classes to dorm environments, but each contributes to a unique set of words in one’s language. We sometimes think of tracking our activities and interactions through a résumé, a journal or a planner (or, let’s be honest, Google Calendar), but in some ways our language can be an equally interesting representation of our communities.

It is most interesting to me to think about how these communities contained in our language collide without us even realizing it. Sitting in my dorm lounge, hearing my friends use random phrases coined by their high school friends in some ways brings those communities to Stanford, bringing a tidbit of another community onto our campus.

When we begin to pick up others’ languages, we somehow take part of who they are and make it new in ourselves and then transfer it unknowingly to other people through our own vocabularies. Certain words (currently, it seems like the word “rip” fits this bill) spread like wildfire as they are spoken from one person to the next, with the initial source probably forever a mystery.

This transfer of language, and the slight differences in all of our lingos, is an interesting way of tracking social trends. We all have phrases we say often, usually without even noticing that we do so. Next time you hear yourself using one of these phrases, try to think about when you started using it and where it came from. Maybe you know right away when that word entered your vocabulary, but more likely, it’s an enigma.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Where did the time go: A freshman reflection https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/where-did-the-time-go-a-freshman-reflection/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/03/06/where-did-the-time-go-a-freshman-reflection/#respond Mon, 06 Mar 2017 14:36:40 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1124358 Time at Stanford is an elusive, confusing creature. When I look back on winter quarter, I’m astounded that it’s already Week 9. Just yesterday, I was driving home from my first college quarter, reflecting on how much my life had changed, and suddenly it’s March and spring break is around the corner. The weeks have […]

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Time at Stanford is an elusive, confusing creature. When I look back on winter quarter, I’m astounded that it’s already Week 9. Just yesterday, I was driving home from my first college quarter, reflecting on how much my life had changed, and suddenly it’s March and spring break is around the corner.

The weeks have flown by in a whirlwind of midterms, social events, rushed meals and weekend ski trips. But somewhat paradoxically, my individual days have seemed endlessly long.

As Stanford students, we jam-pack our schedules, jumping from obligation to obligation before falling, exhausted, into bed. The way that the weeks on campus seemingly pass faster than the individual days themselves has endlessly confused me as I have slowly adjusted to campus life.

While part of this confusing passage of time simply has to do with the general busy-ness of Stanford students, I think part of it can also be attributed to the fact that we live in an atmosphere full of future-thinking people.

As somebody who came into Stanford extremely undecided in terms of a major, I was overwhelmed by some of my peers who had planned out four years of classes in preparation for the concentrations they had already picked. Similarly, I heard discussions around my dorm about summer plans beginning early in fall quarter.

While this planning ahead is certainly important, it tends to mean for me, at least, that I live my life somewhat perpetually in the future. I’m constantly thinking about the work I need to get done on a given night, the office hours I need to sign up for, the plans I need to schedule for the coming weekend, the summer opportunities I need to apply to.

We are told that it’s important to live in the present, but I’ve found that with the overwhelming focus many Stanford students place on the future, this can be difficult to do. Not only that, but it makes it extremely surprising when weeks pass quickly: We are so busy planning for what is coming ahead that when it actually comes, it is somewhat shocking.

Strangely, while the forward-thinking world pushes me to think about my future, a large part of me also stubbornly tries to hold on to past memories. As a freshman, I want to capture important moments and remember my year well. So it can be easy to feel like I’m in a sort of time-limbo, caught between the quickly vanishing past, the not-so-present present and the fast-approaching future.

When days pass in a sluggish crawl and weeks seemingly spring by, it can be difficult to feel like I am effectively using my time at Stanford.

During winter quarter, my roommate and I started a tradition of watching a “Doctor Who” episode every night before bed. While we sometimes miss nights due to midterms or last-minute cram sessions, we’ve tried to prioritize this 45-minute routine because of how cathartic it can be for both of us. I’ve found that these kinds of activities can be little ways of dealing with the strangeness that is the passage of time on campus.

When I watch the Doctor traveling through space and time, or giggle with my roommate over the adorable David Tennant, it feels as though I have more control over my schedule. By actively choosing to dedicate a portion of my day to this non-academic activity, something that would theoretically add to my stress levels, I strangely feel empowered about how I’m using my own time.

While I’m not advocating watching TV for hours on end instead of studying, I do think there is something to be said for blocking out a period of time each day in which you do something simply for the purpose of enjoyment. I don’t think I’ll ever fully get used to the fleeting nature of time on campus, but I do know that by creating these breaks in my day, I feel slightly less overwhelmed by the fast-paced environment at Stanford.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Viewing life through Venmo https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/27/viewing-life-through-venmo/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/27/viewing-life-through-venmo/#respond Mon, 27 Feb 2017 15:35:13 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1123787 I was astounded by the fact that there’s never been a better time to live if (like me) you’re chronically worried about losing memories. Our experiences are, in fact, embedded in the digital world around us.

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Recently, I was cleaning out my email inbox and realized that for no particularly good reason, I had kept all the emails Venmo had ever sent me about transactions I’d completed using the app.

Scrolling through the folder in my email entitled “Venmo,” I quickly began to feel oddly nostalgic. That was such a fun dinner, I thought, or I completely forgot I saw that play with my roommate, or Wow, I can’t believe I actually spent that much money on one meal. 

I first got a Venmo account at the very beginning of my freshman year of college, when I was informed by an upperclassman that Venmo was a must-have. So, my Venmo transactions are a kind of diary of my social life thus far at Stanford.

All of a sudden, I was flooded with vivid memories of events I’d forgotten I’d attended, reminded of obscure conversations with dorm friends over delicious burgers, taken back to awkward getting-to-know-you meals in Palo Alto at the beginning of the year. It was cool to see how my social sphere had slowly expanded since September 2016 (when my transactions documented only outings with high school friends) to now, to see an actual date and time when a particular person at Stanford came into my life.

I have always loved documenting my life, and have kept journals for as far back as I can remember, partially motivated by my fear of somehow forgetting important moments and conversations. My memories of meaningful experiences are like my proof that I’ve existed and lived life in a singular way. The logical solution to making sure I never lost these moments, then, was to record my life as best I could, to write down interactions and experiences that were particularly meaningful to ensure that they were never truly forgotten.

When I arrived at college, my journaling tendencies sadly took a backseat to Stanford academics, and I began to write less and less frequently. To me, this was anxiety-inducing, because it meant that while I was having lots of new and exciting experiences, I was worried that I would soon forget them. But recently, I’ve come to realize that while our modern, fast-paced world might discourage me from blocking out time each day to physically sit and write, it provides me with other ways of documenting my life.

My Venmo records were one example of this, but our technological world affords many methods of keeping a record of our everyday lives. Obviously, there are social media sites like Facebook, Instagram and Twitter that do a pretty good job of allowing us to keep track of our everyday activities. Facebook even creates videos that allow us to look at our “Year in Review,” and our Instagram accounts provide a pretty good representation of moments we found important enough to photograph and post.

But I’ve found that there’s traces of memories hidden in most every technology we use: old text messages, emails, files on computers, Zipcar account activity, voicemails, Spotify playlists, Web browser bookmarks — the list goes on. Even our Netflix viewing histories store memories of Friday nights in with friends or awkward first dates, and the suggested ads on Facebook are reminders of online shopping sprees.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was astounded by the fact that there’s never been a better time to live, if, like me, you’re chronically worried about losing memories. Our experiences are, in fact, embedded in the digital world around us.

While there has certainly been much discussion about the pitfalls of this stored information in our modern day society, I choose to view this in a mostly positive light. True, nothing will ever really compare to snuggling up in bed with a journal, a pen and some good music, and I never plan to fully let go of this habit. But to me, it’s somewhat comforting that my experiences and life are contained in other ways in the world around me.

In some ways, there are many, many “mini-diaries” of our lives thanks to the digital age that we live in. And while these documentations of our lives might be slightly scattered, they are still some sort of proof that we have lived and experienced life in our own uniquely human way.

I’ve always been more of a “write things down on paper” person than someone who uses my laptop for most everything. But I’ve come to accept that maybe it’s time to embrace some forms of technological documentation, because they ensure that I won’t forget some of the best experiences of my life.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Music and memory https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/26/music-and-memory/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/26/music-and-memory/#respond Sun, 26 Feb 2017 19:30:39 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1120855 Music touches us in ways that little else can. It inspires us to dance, weep, laugh, sing, smile. Last weekend, I was studying for my psychology midterm when the song “Banana Pancakes” by Jack Johnson started playing. Listening to this song reminded me instantly of the summer before senior year of high school, when I […]

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Music touches us in ways that little else can. It inspires us to dance, weep, laugh, sing, smile. Last weekend, I was studying for my psychology midterm when the song “Banana Pancakes” by Jack Johnson started playing. Listening to this song reminded me instantly of the summer before senior year of high school, when I lived on a boat for three weeks doing a marine biology scuba diving program. It was a pleasant return to fond memories with shipmates and long days spent exploring the underwater world or sunbathing on the roof of our boat. This type of experience is fairly common in humans — we all have songs that can transport us to particular moments in our lives and evoke the emotions we felt during that experience.

If my life were a playlist, the first track would be “You Are My Sunshine,” which my mother would sing to me when I was a child. I can remember sitting in my mother’s lap in the gray-blue rocking chair in my bedroom, listening to her softly sing to me. But after this, my musical memory gets muddled.

I think in some ways it’s unrealistic to think of the music in our life as being arranged in a neat, chronological playlist. For me, the important songs in my life form more of a web, connected to each other in various ways, whether through people in my life, through particular emotions or through hobbies I associate with each song. For example, while the song “Banana Pancakes” brings me back to my weeks living on a boat, it also reminds me of a friend in high school who played this song on his guitar and of peacefully drizzly days spent in the coziness of my home. In this way, a single song can be connected to many different memories and people. And one song can trigger the next: “Banana Pancakes” might in turn make me think of more songs I listened to on my boat over the summer or of another tune I associate with my friend, creating an interconnected network of music.

So why are we able to associate memory with song? Modern-day psychology has some of the answers. Part of the strong link between emotion and memory has to do with the fact that we remember words better when they have rhyme and rhythm (like songs do). But beyond this, the strong link between memory and music can be explained through our different types of memories. Explicit memory retrieves concrete information related to facts, such as what we ate for dinner last night. Implicit memory is not consciously recalled and can trigger emotional connections when we hear music that was significant to us in the past.

This distinction between implicit and explicit memory is also important because explicit memory, not implicit memory, is damaged in people who have diseases like Alzheimer’s. This means that Alzheimer patients actually have strong emotional responses to music. Music & Memory is a non-profit organization whose mission is to provide elderly people with music (particularly Alzheimer’s patients) in order to bring back these music-triggered memories in their brains. The key to the music the patients listen to is that it is personalized: They are hooked up to iPods that play their favorite songs from back when they were younger. When their favorite music is played, the patients light up, sing along with the songs and nod their heads to mirror the rhythm of the music. This, to me, is an beautiful example of how music can allow for connection in our world even when an individual may be struggling to remember their own reality.

In fact, one of Stanford’s on-campus groups shares music with the elderly in a similar way: Side by Side is a community service group which performs music at nursing homes in the Bay Area, singing songs from the 1920s-60s. Angelina Lo ‘18, one of the group’s co-facilitators, shared one of her favorite experiences in an email, saying that, “Last year, while singing ‘Come Fly With Me’ to an elderly man in our audience, an impish grin crept up onto his face in the middle of the song. Curious, at a rest in the song, I asked him why he was smiling. He launched into a tale about how he was a pilot and how when he was younger, he would take short flights from San Francisco to Oakland or another Bay Area city with his ‘lady friend’ and sing ‘Come Fly With Me’ as they were getting into the air. Calling up memories like that can be very meaningful and joyful for our audience, and hearing stories like these bring me (and the other members of our group) a lot of joy and perspective.”

Side by Side’s other co-facilitator, Sam Starkey ‘19, commented, “Music has a special way of bringing back memories — that’s why we choose songs that our audience members may have heard in their teenage/young-adult years. Also, music has a way of building connections between people that might be separated by things like age, health and life experiences.”

The song “What a Wonderful World” will always hold a special place in my heart. It’s my father’s favorite song, and whenever I hear it, I think of the last Fall Dinner Dance at my high school (a tradition where fathers and daughters come together for a night of dining and dancing). The funny part of all of this is that “What a Wonderful World” wasn’t even the song I danced to with my father.

To some extent, music can also create false memories in us. Taylor Swift’s “Welcome to New York” instantly conjures up memories of strolling through the streets of New York City, even though I’ve only visited the city briefly and am certain the scenes I create in my mind never took place. This can be the power of music: the ability to create realities that are so vivid, they are sometimes completely disparate from our actual experiences. While this can be disconcerting, it is also somewhat miraculous that our minds can create these false realities, that we have the ability to manufacture these experiences because of the music that others have created.

In “Ragtime,” E.L. Doctorow writes: “The melodies were like bouquets. There seemed to be no other possibilities for life than those delineated by the music … the boy perceived it as light touching various places in space, accumulating in intricate patterns until the entire room was made to glow with its own being.”

This quote, to me, captures another aspect of music: its ability to exist as almost like another entity. Doctorow describes not only the “intricate patterns” music creates in our minds but also the overarching sense that music is transcendent. One of my favorite bands, The Mowgli’s, did a small gig in Santa Cruz last spring. I went to the show with a couple of friends after just having read this quote for my literature class in high school. The enthusiasm of the band members and audience, and the reverberating music in the small restaurant, created an atmosphere which I felt was aptly captured by Doctorow’s words — one in which the whole room was aware of the power of the music we were experiencing. The concert also reminded me of how music can connect us with those around us — experiencing the same music with others makes us feel like we’re a part of some larger collective identity.

This unity is especially important in light of the recent political chaos in our country. We seem to be a country divided by party lines, religion, race and class. These divisions are discouraging and can by no means be solved overnight. But as I reflected on our factious nation, I was reminded of that night I spent in Santa Cruz with my friends. While this setting is perhaps not a satisfactory microcosm of our nation as a whole, it was, to me, an example of something that brings humans together, that connects us easily and effortlessly.

Think of the common lullabies we sing to our children, or of crowds standing together and singing the national anthem at football games. These songs bring groups of people together, increasing social cohesion. Music can and should be a force to connect us all, and it can be comforting to remember just how powerful music is in influencing not only our individual memories but our collective sense of identity and community.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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The power of brevity: Twitter and micropoetry https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/24/the-power-of-brevity-twitter-and-micropoetry/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/24/the-power-of-brevity-twitter-and-micropoetry/#respond Fri, 24 Feb 2017 17:20:10 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122401 I think this might be one of the most important lessons that micropoetry can offer to us: a reminder that words are precious and that we should treat them (and other human beings) gently.

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While writing about the phenomenon of Instapoetry (poetry initially published by writers on Instagram), I became quickly aware that the internet-poetry phenomenon was not limited to Instagram. One of the most intriguing forms of poetry on the Internet, to me, is the micropoetry featured on Twitter. What is micropoetry, you might ask? According to micropoetry.com, it’s a “genre of poetic verse which is characterized by its extreme brevity. In other words, a [micropoem] is a short poem.” This can encompass many different types of poetry, the most famous probably being the haiku. On Twitter, however, micropoetry is limited because of the word limit on the social media site: Poets must create works that are 140 characters or less.

To me, this idea of limited words is both fascinating and frustrating. It’s also not an idea that’s new in the poetry world. Fixed-form poetry has always had these limitations — haikus and sonnets, for example, are both supposed to be a specified length. But it’s particularly interesting to me that this type of constraint has spread to the internet, because I tend to think of contemporary poetry as being more free-flowing, without many rules in play to restrict it. The combination of the new technology and the fixed form a Twitter poet must abide by seems to me to be a sort of collision of two worlds.

When I took a poetry class in high school, we got to experiment with writing bits of our own poetry. The fixed-form poems we had to write never ceased to annoy me: The thoughts I was trying to communicate had to be done so in a very specific and constrained way. However, as I explored the micropoetry phenomenon on Twitter, I began to realize that there was something impressive and beautiful about the way that poets were able to express ideas when confined to such brevity. It was amazing to me the vast array of ideas that could be communicated with so few words.

What became increasingly clear to me was how important word choice was in the craft of this type of poetry: Selecting just the right word to communicate the emotion or experience you’re trying to is extremely important in a poetic form that requires extremely precise language. The largest distinction between the micropoems I read on Twitter that were extremely moving and those that just seemed to be a random compilation of words was the use of exactly the right words.

This precision in language reminded me of a quote from one of my favorite books in middle and high school, “Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe”: “To be careful with people and words was a rare and beautiful thing.” The quote is so poignant to me because it stresses the inherent beauty in the words we have at our arsenal and the importance of realizing the power we have in communicating with those words. In some ways, I think this might be one of the most important lessons that micropoetry can offer to us: a reminder that words are precious and that we should treat them (and other human beings) gently.

In light of everything that’s been going on in our society and especially the political turmoil that has swept the nation lately, this is one of the things that has frustrated me most about our culture: how common it is for figures we see on television to throw around rash statements, trying to sound impressive by speaking with force and confidence.

But I think as we all know and probably sometimes forget, it is usually far more important to hear an honest and perhaps more concise statement full of words that have been mulled over beforehand. And this art of careful language is exactly what micropoetry on Twitter has the potential to foster.

Perhaps, I should tell my high school self to give the fixed-form poems a second-chance: Sometimes, the fewer words you choose, the more weight each one carries.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Instapoetry: The power of words in a techno-centric world https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/24/instapoetry-the-power-of-words-in-a-techno-centric-world/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/24/instapoetry-the-power-of-words-in-a-techno-centric-world/#respond Fri, 24 Feb 2017 17:14:59 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122061 Instapoetry is proof that social media can foster much more than just surface-level, superficial discussion: it can also be a place where a community of writers and readers can come together to share work and ideas.

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It’s late at night, and I’m huddled on the bottom bunk of my bed at my family’s condo up in the mountains, too large now to sit comfortably in the small crevice between the top and bottom beds, but too engrossed to move. I’m reading Rupi Kaur’s book of poetry, “milk and honey,” eyelids heavy after a long day but somehow unable to close completely. Her words seem too important to stop reading. I stay up until I’ve finished the whole book of poems, each one as honest and heart-wrenching as the last. I close the book and sit in the darkness, left numb by the fierce poignancy of her words. Kaur’s poetry tackles subjects like relationship violence, heartbreak and substance abuse, ending in a remarkable celebration of love at its best and purest.

The back cover of her book reads:

“this is the journey of

surviving through poetry

this is the blood sweat tears

of twenty-one years

this is my heart

in your hands

this is the hurting

the loving

the breaking

the healing”

The book itself has four parts, (as delineated on the back cover of the book): “the hurting,” “the loving,” “the breaking” and “the healing,” and it takes the reader through these phases in a delicate, carefully crafted way. The poems were especially powerful in their specific yet universal word choice, sometimes documenting experiences I’ve never had but eliciting emotions that most everyone can relate to. Part of the power of the book is also the drawings that accompany many of the poems, which add another layer to the meaning of Kaur’s words.

Rupi Kaur started out as an Instapoet — a writer who publishes their poetry on Instagram and builds up a following through the social media platform. This was an entirely new phenomenon to me — I’d never heard of this type of poetry, and I was initially taken aback. Perhaps this is because the cliché image I have in my mind associated with reading poetry is one in which I’m sitting in a cozy armchair, sipping a mug of tea on a rainy day and turning the pages of a book I recently bought at a secondhand bookstore. But perhaps this is not the only way to consume poetry effectively. Perhaps it is time to discover new ways to share and consume poetry in our rapidly progressing society.

These days, I think some people think of poetry as a somewhat antiquated art form, a form of expression that is becoming less and less relevant in our commercial, technologically advanced society. But the trope of the poor poet struggling to make ends meet is challenged by Instapoets like Rupi Kaur, Lang Leav and Tyler Knott Gregson. These poets have written some of the top-selling books of poetry in the United States and have huge social media followings.

Though we tend to separate social media and technology from art forms like poetry, the use of platforms like Instagram clearly has become an effective way to merge poetry with the online world. And clearly, books of poetry themselves aren’t vanishing — these Instapoets are still publishing work in hard-copy versions — but the social media presence is an effective way of attracting more of a following and of publishing work in an authentic and organic way.

The Instapoetry movement is also a powerful way of combining words and images in one cohesive feed as well as starting online conversations about controversial topics. For example, Rupi Kaur published an image on her Instagram that went viral featuring herself in a pair of sweatpants, with a period stain visible on the pants and bed. Not only does this image complement Kaur’s poems about femininity and strength in a very powerful way, but it also highlights the ability of this type of social media “artwork” to spark conversation. Instagram temporarily removed this image from their site, prompting many online news sites to post articles about the social stigma around menstruation.

Social media sites like Instagram tend to get bad raps for being superficial, for fostering a space where teen girls can posts selfies of themselves in the hopes that their peers will validate their images through comments and likes. But to me, Instapoetry is proof that social media can foster much more than just surface-level, superficial discussion: it can also be a place where a community of writers and readers can come together to share work and ideas. Instapoetry is a reminder that while there are drawbacks to the uber-connected internet world of the 21st century, the online sphere can serve as a pretty powerful place for human connection.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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On beginnings https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/21/on-beginnings/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/21/on-beginnings/#respond Tue, 21 Feb 2017 15:52:42 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1123334 I recently came across a poem by the Internet poet “atticus” that goes, “At the beginning there was nothing but love and stardust. My heart yearns to begin again.” I loved this idea of starting again, of allowing yourself the time and space to step back and create a new beginning. One of my dorm-mates […]

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I recently came across a poem by the Internet poet “atticus” that goes, “At the beginning there was nothing but love and stardust. My heart yearns to begin again.” I loved this idea of starting again, of allowing yourself the time and space to step back and create a new beginning.

One of my dorm-mates recently ran excitedly into the dining room exclaiming that she had just found her wallet after it having been lost the whole morning. When asked how she found it, she replied that all she had had to do was physically walk out of the room, close the door and then re-enter. Coming back in with fresh eyes allowed her to very quickly realize that she had left her wallet on her desk.

While this might seem like a fairly insignificant anecdote, the underlying lesson is fairly valuable. We’ve all heard of the clichéd importance of “starting fresh” — of “re-vamping” our lives when we seem to be stuck in a routine. But to me, these phrases have always seemed somewhat enigmatic: What exactly does it mean to start over, to begin again?

To me, this simple lesson can have many applications in our everyday lives. For example, when I came home from school for winter break, I was amazed at how healthy it felt to have time to myself to reflect on my first quarter at Stanford and begin to look forward to the coming winter term.

While many good things had come out of my first quarter at Stanford (great classes, fun dorm friends, new favorite books) it was extremely valuable to view my next quarter at Stanford as a kind of new beginning — a chance to re-start and enter the quarter with new goals and aspirations. Breaking up our lives by actively creating these new beginnings for ourselves can make life more of a constant reflection, allowing us to work on things in the past we wish we could have done better.

It also makes for a more forgiving life. If, for example, I performed fairly poorly on a midterm for a class, by actively framing the aftermath of this grade as a chance to start anew and perhaps approach the next assignment differently, it makes me focus less on the perceived failure and allows for a more healthy redirection of energy.

As cheesy as this might sound, whenever I hear the phrase “begin again,” I can’t help but think of Taylor Swift’s song on her album “Red,” with the lyrics: “I’ve been spending the last eight months/Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end/But on a Wednesday in a café, I watched it begin again.” This might seem like your average Taylor Swift song, full of lyrics about complicated love sagas and tragic break-ups, but I have always particularly enjoyed this song specifically because it provides the listener with hope.

No matter what context, part of the magic in new beginnings is that sometimes we can’t actually orchestrate them ourselves. While this can be frustrating, it’s also reassuring.

My best friend likes to say to me frequently that “everything happens for a reason,” whether that be in terms of failed relationships or less-than-stellar exam scores, and while I usually roll my eyes at her in anguish, there’s a lot of truth in this statement. When it’s difficult to actively create new beginnings for ourselves, it is sometimes just as helpful to simply trust in the power of time in creating those beginnings for us.

I think it’s safe to say that the transition to college life is not exactly easy for most students. For me, it was definitely overwhelming at first to try to navigate a changing social scene, college level classes and the maze that is Stanford’s campus, all while trying to stay caught up on sleep.

But one of the things that kept me sane throughout this period of rocky transition was this “re-start” mindset: allowing myself opportunities to let go of past mistakes or people that I didn’t need in my life and starting anew. And with a combination of my own mental framing and a little faith in the passing of time itself, the power of new beginnings did indeed help me adjust to my freshman year at Stanford.  

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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We are large, we contain multitudes https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/13/we-are-large-we-contain-multitudes/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/02/13/we-are-large-we-contain-multitudes/#respond Mon, 13 Feb 2017 14:30:00 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1122814 I collect other people’s words. There’s something unbelievably powerful about reading something somebody else has said and feeling the chills rush up my spine as I realize it’s a perfect way of describing an experience I’ve had, or simply a beautifully brilliant compilation of words put together in exactly the right way. My dorm room […]

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I collect other people’s words. There’s something unbelievably powerful about reading something somebody else has said and feeling the chills rush up my spine as I realize it’s a perfect way of describing an experience I’ve had, or simply a beautifully brilliant compilation of words put together in exactly the right way.

My dorm room is littered with sticky notes slapped on my desk and walls, with phrases from books or articles that have struck me as particularly inspiring. One of the more commonly-known quotes that adorns my walls is from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”:

“Do I contradict myself? / Very well then, I contradict myself. / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”

This quote, to me, has always been a beautiful way of describing the complexity that is human nature — the fact that we don’t exist in dichotomies, that we’re all infinitely complicated compilations of many different and sometimes conflicting thoughts and beliefs.

While I love this quote, its application in real life is difficult. Contradictions within ourselves are not usually viewed in a positive light: We’re supposed to have strong opinions and act in a consistent way most of the time. But one of the most powerful things we can do is acknowledge the fact that as human beings, we act and think in different ways in different contexts, and that’s actually okay and maybe even good.

One example of this contradiction is my introversion in some contexts and not in others. In classroom settings, I’m fairly quiet, and speak pretty infrequently. In fact, in many larger group settings, I’m never the one to speak loudest or try to be heard. But in other contexts, I can be extremely vocal, giddy and loud.

While this perhaps doesn’t seem that unusual (everyone feels different degrees of comfort in different settings), this tendency to speak and act in such drastically different contexts has actually been a large source of stress for me. In high school, teachers would comment that I should learn to share my thoughts more often with my peers, speak up more in discussion settings. And the frustrating thing for me was that I knew I was capable of doing so — when classes broke into smaller groups to discuss ideas, I was able to be a large contributor to the small-group discussions. It frustrated me to no end that for some reason, I was able to talk in one setting, and not the next.

When my best friend left for college (about a month before me, thanks to Stanford’s quarter system) I remember driving away from her house for the last time and feeling unbelievably confused about my emotional state. I was incredibly sad to see her leave, to know that I would soon be 3,000 miles away from one of the people I loved most in this world, but I also felt a swelling in my chest as I thought about how much love and joy I’d shared with her.

I thought about ice skating on chilly nights, linking arms as we walked to our favorite frozen yogurt place and laughing at random absurdities, about our beach days and long chats in warm cars as the nighttime slowly filled the outside world with darkness. And as all of these moments flashed through my mind, I felt unbelievably happy and grateful, despite the pain of knowing I wouldn’t see her for three or four months.

When my grandfather died, I felt unbelievably heartbroken, but I also felt extremely connected to my immediate family and extraordinarily grateful that he’d gotten to live as long and healthy a life as he did. In fact, when I think back on a lot of the most poignant moments of my life, they’ve been moments like this, where I didn’t feel one emotion.

I wasn’t happy or sad, I was a complicated combination of many different and equally strong emotions. And this can be extremely confusing and sometimes frustrating, because we like to assign words to our emotional states: “I’m sad,” or “I’m happy,” or “I’m angry.” But it’s more accurate, in my experience, to say, “I’m happy, and I’m sad and I’m angry, and that’s okay.”

We must be more forgiving with ourselves. Yes, it’s important to recognize instances where our contradictions can be teaching opportunities (for me, this means working to try to speak more in classes), but it’s also important to realize that we are allowed to act differently at different times and even believe different things at different times. Feeling many different things at the same time, while frustrating, is also a beautifully, uniquely human phenomenon.

We all contain multitudes, and sometimes, what we’re feeling can’t be adequately described with emotional labels like “happy” and “sad.” One of my favorite words in the English language is “ineffable”: basically, the idea that something is too great to be described in words. Perhaps sometimes human sensation and behavior is simply “ineffable”: We are large, we contain multitudes, and the contradictions in ourselves can be one of the most poignant parts of the human experience.

 

Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Selfies, streaks, and stories https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/24/selfies-streaks-and-stories/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/24/selfies-streaks-and-stories/#respond Tue, 24 Jan 2017 15:05:57 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1121751 I’m trying to get some reading done and somehow keep being distracted by the bright glow of my phone screen — Snapchat’s little yellow ghost taunting me with mystery pictures and chats. Sighing resignedly, I open my phone and view the snaps: selfies from my friends at different colleges, a chat from a high school friend […]

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I’m trying to get some reading done and somehow keep being distracted by the bright glow of my phone screen — Snapchat’s little yellow ghost taunting me with mystery pictures and chats. Sighing resignedly, I open my phone and view the snaps: selfies from my friends at different colleges, a chat from a high school friend desperately asking for college advice, and a depressing picture of the rain I’m trying to avoid from a fellow Stanford student.

I withheld from the Snapchat frenzy for as long as I could. In high school, I’d watch friends snapping selfies of themselves to send to people sitting across the table from them, and I wondered what the point was in this type of social media. I could text my friends — why did I need a separate app just to send them pictures of myself? But I confess, I’m completely addicted now.

Snapchat just seems to have it all: the ability to show friends what you’re doing, in the moment, with a built in texting feature to boot. One of my high school friends is so committed to our Snapchat streak that she had me give her my Snapchat password during my pre-orientation hiking trip so that she could snapchat herself from my account and maintain our many days of continuous snapping.

One of my favorite features of Snapchat are the Snapchat stories. These feeds from Snapchat allow me to stay updated on the lives of friends I don’t communicate with on a consistent basis, making it feel like I still know what their life is like. Beyond just the stories of friends, to me, one of the coolest parts of Snapchat are the Live stories, which are different each day and allow people from around the world to submit their own individual experience to be a part of a larger story.

To me, this feature is a really powerful tool for connection, allowing us to experience the realities of people living in vastly different environments. I have always loved collections of short stories, because they bring together many different narratives into one larger work. There is beauty in both the individual stories and the whole that is created by amalgamating the pieces. Live Stories are a technological form of this phenomenon: They bring together many different people’s experiences into one larger whole. The topics of these Stories can be anything: from featuring different people’s experiences at a music festival like Coachella to cool skiing videos.

One of the most powerful Live Stories I saw was the feed on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, with the prompt, “What is your dream for the future?” Individuals sent in videos of themselves with an array of answers, from “More love. More truth. Less pain. Good news,” to “Whether race, preference or gender, we are all equal.” A particularly powerful video featured a young man who said, “We’re all atoms at the end of the day; I just have more pigment than you do. So, love me. I love you. Let’s embrace each other.”

Live stories can carry the depth and weight of the one from MLK day, but they can also simply be entertaining portraits of regular people going through their everyday lives. That is the beauty in this feature of Snapchat: No matter the topic of the feed, the diverse responses bring together a great number of voices. Through this feed, we can vicariously experience others’ realities.

Recently, there has been talk about the potential for new technologies such as virtual reality in opening our eyes to the experiences of those around us and perhaps helping to elicit more empathy for certain individuals. Because the individuals featured on Snapchat Live are generally fairly diverse (people of different races, ethnicities, genders, and sexual orientations come together on one feed) viewers are exposed to many different perspectives, and this feature of Snapchat can be yet another way of creating empathy for people whose lives may be quite different from our own.

Ultimately, this feature of Snapchat serves as a way to feed our curiosity about what other people are doing or what they believe about a certain topic. Along with the other features of Snapchat, the Snapchat Live function allows for connection, but with a much larger group of people, reminding us that humanity is vast and diverse. Snapchat’s ingenuity is in the many different needs it satisfies: connecting with our close friends and family through photography and messaging, staying updated on the lives of loose acquaintances, as well as feeling connected to a larger world.
Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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Five surprises about returning home after freshman fall quarter https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/17/five-surprises-about-returning-home-after-freshman-fall-quarter/ https://stanforddaily.com/2017/01/17/five-surprises-about-returning-home-after-freshman-fall-quarter/#respond Tue, 17 Jan 2017 18:53:06 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1121439 Home-cooked meals are a thing. Living on campus for three months means many, many meal swipes. As wonderful as Sunday brunch at Wilbur or Indian night at FloMo are, nothing can quite compete with the aroma of fresh basil wafting from the kitchen as my mom cooks her homemade pomodoro sauce. Plus, these meals are […]

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  • Home-cooked meals are a thing.
  • Living on campus for three months means many, many meal swipes. As wonderful as Sunday brunch at Wilbur or Indian night at FloMo are, nothing can quite compete with the aroma of fresh basil wafting from the kitchen as my mom cooks her homemade pomodoro sauce. Plus, these meals are blessedly free of charge (if you don’t count the obligatory dishwashing at the end of the meal).

    1. Distance can be good.

    It can be easy to get caught up in the “Stanford bubble” and it’s difficult to evaluate your life while in the middle of midterms and final papers. Coming home was an optimal time to look back on the quarter and think about how I’d spent my first block of time at Stanford. As somebody who thinks better when I write things down, I journalled plenty over break, and looking back on the quarter once I was back at home allowed me to more clearly evaluate my experiences during the fall and create goals for my second quarter at college. For example, I learned the importance of remembering that I actually had meal plan dollars to spend at on-campus eateries (the result of forgetting this was treating multiple dorm-mates to Late Night the last night of the quarter in a desperate attempt to spend my money).

    1. I missed the welcoming community that is my Stanford dorm.

    While this might seem cliché and perhaps not very unexpected, this revelation was actually fairly surprising to me. As an introvert who was sometimes overwhelmed by the chaotic nature of dorm life, I was taken aback by how fondly I thought about the dorm environment while on break. There is something very special about living together with other like-minded individuals who are passionate about vastly different activities and academic subjects. The camaraderie of this type of environment is something that I missed when I returned to the quiet of my home.

    1. Seamlessly falling back into my high school friend groups.

    Returning home and visiting my high school friends reminded me of my everyday life as it existed before college. It was interesting to me how even though my high school friends and I had made new college friends, we interacted with each other as though we had never left. Seeing old friends was a reminder of myself as I had existed in high school. As my roommate commented, there is something beautiful about having people in our lives who have known us for an extended period of time, who remember certain parts of us and keep those parts alive with them until we reconnect.

    1. How much it felt like I never left.

    Returning to life at home made college feel almost like a distant dream. Having returned home during my high school years after countless summer programs, college felt like a similar experience. Realizing that I would in fact be going back to Stanford after the three-week hiatus from work and dorm life was mildly disconcerting, but I felt for the most part extremely grateful that the Stanford community I was returning to was so positive and welcoming.

     

    Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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    In defense of memes https://stanforddaily.com/2016/12/28/in-defense-of-memes/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/12/28/in-defense-of-memes/#respond Wed, 28 Dec 2016 18:27:10 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1120705 In the aftermath of the election, one of the only things that kept me sane was the circulation of the amazingly hilarious Obama-Biden memes on my Facebook newsfeed. From pictures of Biden plotting against Trump’s impending entrance to the White House to images featuring Obama and Biden’s epic friendship, these Internet works of art never […]

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    In the aftermath of the election, one of the only things that kept me sane was the circulation of the amazingly hilarious Obama-Biden memes on my Facebook newsfeed. From pictures of Biden plotting against Trump’s impending entrance to the White House to images featuring Obama and Biden’s epic friendship, these Internet works of art never failed to make me laugh and provide much needed relief from the political tension filling the rest of my Facebook account.

    Memes are extremely common in this day and age — over half of what I consume on a daily basis on Facebook is memes. A meme from Thanksgiving depicts a family eating a classic turkey dinner, with the caption:

    Mom: “What are you thankful for?”

    Dad: “Family.”

    Sister: “Our home.”

    Me: “Memes.”

    This image has over 12,000 comments by people (albeit sometimes sarcastically) appreciating the role of memes in their lives.

    One of the magical things about memes is that they are simultaneously universally applicable and equally specific to each individual. A meme can be very simple — a picture of a bowl of guacamole, for example, with a caption about the power of good guac. But this minimalistic image means different things to all of us — for example, when my best friend tagged me in this, I knew immediately it was a joke, because she knows how much I detest guacamole. I thought back to high school, when she would excitedly fill paper cups with guacamole and eat the spread without anything to accompany it, and of my ensuing disgust at her eating habits. But I would imagine when many other people see this meme, they’re filled with a genuine love for guacamole.

    Why do we love memes so much? Part of the appeal of this phenomenon may be how easy they are to consume — in a culture where we find increasingly faster ways to relate to those around us (telephone calls became text messages, which became Snapchat) memes are the ultimate form of rapid communication. We can digest them in less than 10 seconds and “communicate” by simply writing the name of a friend or relative in a comment below the meme.

    I recently had an argument with a friend who felt that sensations like Internet memes were undermining more meaningful forms of communication like the written word. I can understand this position. I wrote an entire essay for a college application about the word “petrichor,” or the smell of the earth after it rains, and why words and language are so beautiful and important. My dorm wall is adorned with quotes from my favorite books and poems, which never cease to provide me with inspiration. Language is inarguably a profoundly important way to communicate with our fellow human beings.

    But I would argue that the existence of memes as a form of communication in our modern-day society doesn’t inherently undermine other forms of communication. I use memes to keep in touch with high school friends — tagging people in memes has become a way to maintain relationships, to remind people that they’re on my mind and that I love them and am thinking about them. Far from replacing meaningful communication with my loved ones, memes are a way to supplement this communication by reminding friends of hilarious times we’ve shared together or of television shows we’ve laughed and cried over together.

    The written language allows us to communicate with each other in many wonderful ways. We can engage deeply in a philosophical argument, express our deep appreciation for a friend, or communicate scholarly research. Memes are a different category of communication. In the morning, when I check Facebook on my phone, memes are what bring me a smile of comfort or gratitude as I’m reminded of a friend I haven’t seen in awhile, or as I see a reference to my favorite scene in Harry Potter. These small nuggets of connection are important in their own right, serving as a positive or simply relatable image to latch on to as we scroll through our social media feeds.

     

    Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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    The mountains are calling, and you must go https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/11/the-mountains-are-calling-and-you-must-go/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/11/the-mountains-are-calling-and-you-must-go/#respond Fri, 11 Nov 2016 19:04:24 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1119311 Last weekend, in a brave attempt to finally get some much-needed exercise, I decided to jog to the Dish and run (okay, walk) the loop to the top. Even though I’ve done this trek before (I grew up in the Bay Area), I still found myself overwhelmed by the beauty I observed at the top […]

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    Last weekend, in a brave attempt to finally get some much-needed exercise, I decided to jog to the Dish and run (okay, walk) the loop to the top. Even though I’ve done this trek before (I grew up in the Bay Area), I still found myself overwhelmed by the beauty I observed at the top of the loop. Stanford seemed like a mere speck on the Peninsula, a patchwork of red tiles in a sea of buildings, trees and rolling hills, framed by puffy white clouds.

    Standing at the top of the Dish, with the wind in my hair, I was reminded of how much I value spending time in the outdoors. While we live on a beautiful campus, nothing to me can quite beat hiking up a mountain path or running carelessly into a freezing ocean. So, inspired by my need for outdoor adventure, here’s an eclectic list of beautiful, local, places that have become special to me. While there’s many amazing outdoor spaces to explore that are slightly farther away, all of the locations below can be reached and appreciated in just a day!

    1. Half Moon Bay, CA

    Distance from campus: 35 minutes by car

    Nothing can quite compare to the piercingly frigid Pacific Ocean. Half Moon Bay has many beautiful beaches, and the brave of heart can even attempt to swim (wetsuit highly recommended). Many a weekend my senior year of high school I’d hit the open road with friends and head for this foggy town to check out the beautiful coastline. An added plus is the lovely downtown Half Moon Bay. Main Street has many delicious restaurants and artsy shops to check out if you’re already in the area. Alternatively, head to the beaches in Pescadero and check out Duarte’s Tavern for some mouth-wateringly good pie.

    The view of the ocean from Half Moon Bay. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    The view of the ocean from Half Moon Bay. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    1. Muir Woods, Mill Valley, CA

    Distance from campus: 1.5 hours by car

    If you’re up for the slightly longer drive, I highly recommend checking out the beautiful redwoods in this state park. Channel your inner Steinbeck as you traverse the winding trails and walk under the canopy of tree branches. There is nothing quite like 800-year-old trees to make you feel simultaneously awestruck at the beauty of the world around you and completely insignificant (in the best way possible). An added plus is getting to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge on the way over.

    Muir Woods. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    Muir Woods. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    1. Filoli, Woodside, CA

    Distance from campus: 20 minutes by car

    For those who would rather not come back to campus with muddy sneakers or sand in their socks, Filoli is a beautiful alternative to an immersive natural experience. Featuring an historic estate and acres upon acres of beautiful gardens, Filoli is a beautiful spot for a leisurely Sunday morning brunch in the cafe and a stroll around the abundant flora and fauna. It also features a quite lovely gift shop with handmade soaps and succulents for sale. Bring your student ID for a discounted ticket into the grounds!

    Filoli. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    Filoli. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    1. Windy Hill, Portola Valley, CA

    Distance from campus: 20 minutes by car

    This is one of my favorite hikes and has a beautiful view at the top of the Bay Area. It’s an ideal location for a morning hike and picnic at the top of the hill. The most rewarding hikes to the top are around 8 miles round-trip, but the climb is completely worth it! Alternatively, on evenings when my friends and I have been feeling less than enthusiastic about trekking up to the top, we’ve driven up to the summit with some food and watched beautiful sunsets slowly creep over the peninsula stretched out below us.

    The view from Windy Hill. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    The view from Windy Hill. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    1. Baylands Nature Preserve, Palo Alto

    Distance from Campus: 15 minutes by car

    The Baylands Nature Preserve features trails in a beautiful marshland setting. If you’re an avid birdwatcher, this is a great place to go, as it is home to both local populations of birds and many migratory populations as well. I frequented the Baylands during my high school science career, as it has an interesting mix of both salt and freshwater habitats. If you’re more interested in water activities, there’s also the opportunity to go windsurfing or kayaking on the bay surrounding the marsh.

    (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    1. Santa Cruz, CA

    Distance from Campus: 1 hour by car

    Santa Cruz has a whole host of outdoor opportunities. The classic Santa Cruz destination is the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, which has not only a beautiful but generally well-populated beach as well as a boardwalk with rides and food. There’s also many other picturesque beaches in Santa Cruz away from the crowded boardwalk, such as the Natural Bridges State Beach, which has a striking rock formation along the waterline. If you’re in the mood for a walk through some stoic woods, the Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park in Santa Cruz is another beautiful alternative.

    The Santa Cruz boardwalk. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)
    The Santa Cruz boardwalk. (JULIE PLUMMER/The Stanford Daily)

     

    If you can’t make it to any of these locations, try bringing the natural world to you. Find a spot on campus that reminds you of your favorite outdoor getaway. Bike through the fall leaves, write about a meaningful experience in nature, or simply lie on the Oval and watch fluffy clouds pass by — the natural world is all around us.

     

    Did we miss your favorite nature spot in the Bay Area? Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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    The best and worst of us https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/02/the-best-and-worst-of-us/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/11/02/the-best-and-worst-of-us/#respond Wed, 02 Nov 2016 17:00:53 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1119044 Family is sipping hot chocolate in a cozy condo, looking out at a raging snowstorm. It’s hauling a mini Christmas tree up to the mountains for the holidays, playing blackjack with my dad, reading Harry Potter with my mom, learning to play softball with my sister. Family is birthday cakes for the dog, pumpkin shopping […]

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    Family is sipping hot chocolate in a cozy condo, looking out at a raging snowstorm. It’s hauling a mini Christmas tree up to the mountains for the holidays, playing blackjack with my dad, reading Harry Potter with my mom, learning to play softball with my sister. Family is birthday cakes for the dog, pumpkin shopping on chilly autumn evenings, building Lego R2D2’s and Ferris wheels.

    When I think of the word family, these scenes filter through my mind like a jumbled slideshow of my childhood. As I began to talk to other Stanford students about what this word meant to them, it was clear that similar memories were brought up for each of them: Family dinners spent laughing and talking, surprise parties gone bad, vacations to exotic or not-so-exotic destinations. Something about this word seems to bring up a multitude of emotions in many of us: Happiness, nostalgia — perhaps even exasperation — but mostly love. Family, it seems, is above all the people in our lives who love us deeply and for whom we would do anything.

    A common phrase many people brought up in association with the word family was  “unconditional love”—the idea that our families are the ones who love us fully and without judgment — the people we can be our unabashed selves with. This was an interesting trend to me, not because it was unexpected, but because of the implications this association had on other relationships. Using the definition of family as only our immediate relatives, I wondered if by defining those relationships around unconditionality, it meant other loving relationships involved more judgment and self-censorship.

    To me, all love is unconditional. We love people because of, and not despite, their flaws. This, for me, has led to deeper and more meaningful connections with those in my life. Two of my favorite spoken word poets, Phil and Sarah Kay, have a line in their poem “An Origin Story,” which goes, “I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.” This line, to me, epitomizes what love truly is: Fully embracing the people in your life for who they are and allowing them to be that without imposing your own ideas on them about who they should be. This kind of love certainly exists in many families, but I would argue it should also exist in any caring relationship.

    However, the concept of “family” can be more broadly defined than just one’s immediate relatives. As some of my peers expressed, family is more nuanced than this simple definition. “Family” could be everything from our immediate family to our close friends to our pets. One student even talked about a high school teacher whom he still considers “family.” Clearly, everyone’s perception of this term is slightly different. But our reactions when we hear this word or try to describe what it means to us are fairly universal. As each person I talked to began discussing their family, they’d invariably begin to smile, their voices would gain volume, and some people would even start gesturing wildly to illustrate what they were talking about.

    So perhaps “family” can be anything from our immediate relatives or our close friends to even a particular feeling of warmth and lightness we get from our vivid memories of important people in our life. This flexibility in definition is very beautiful because it allows us to keep our family with us wherever we are. One of the exciting things about being at Stanford is that our definitions of family can constantly expand to incorporate new people. While we may always have a conception of family outside of our life here, it’s comforting to know that this definition can morph and change as we meet new people in life.

    Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer ‘at’ stanford.edu.

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    Looking up https://stanforddaily.com/2016/10/24/looking-up/ https://stanforddaily.com/2016/10/24/looking-up/#respond Mon, 24 Oct 2016 18:24:51 +0000 https://stanforddaily.com/?p=1118389 What makes us happy? It’s in the little things – succulents from farmers markets, a new stash of snacks from Trader Joe’s, pictures from home, the fresh smell of earth after the rain. When I asked around about what brought people happiness, they’d mention these small things – food, hot chocolate, music – but invariably […]

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    What makes us happy? It’s in the little things – succulents from farmers markets, a new stash of snacks from Trader Joe’s, pictures from home, the fresh smell of earth after the rain. When I asked around about what brought people happiness, they’d mention these small things – food, hot chocolate, music – but invariably would bring up people who were important to them. Our connections with others are undeniable sources of light in our lives, and Stanford is definitely a place with an abundance of interesting and inspiring people. As I settle into life at Stanford, one of the things I find most difficult is balancing meeting new people while holding on to the people and memories from my life back home.

    So how does one successfully see-saw between past and present lives?  One of my friends from high school taught me that one way is through intentionality in relationships: being purposeful in the way we interact with others. This might seem like a fairly straightforward idea, but it’s been really powerful in helping me both shape connections with new people and maintain strong ties with loved ones back home. The premise is fairly simple: Pay attention to the people around you, to the relationships you’re forming, to the words and thoughts of the people around you and consciously prioritize the moment you’re experiencing.

    Something I’ve found useful in the past couple of weeks has been giving myself focused time to reflect on moments in the day that reminded me of people or places from home, from the pho that brought back memories of my best friend to the song played on the piano in my dorm lounge that reminded me of childhood piano lessons with my beloved teacher. Journaling about these experiences at the end of the day has been a useful way of allowing myself the time to revisit and acknowledge them, and helps me focus on being more present when actually experiencing these moments.

    After lunch at Ricker this past Sunday, I biked back to my dorm in the pounding rain. I found myself beaming into the onslaught of water, feeling overwhelmingly free and alive as the cool liquid dampened my hair and clothes. I have always loved the rain, and being a new college student biking through my campus with the streets glistening around me was both an exciting first at college and a sentimental reminder of childhood days splashing in puddles. Here again, I felt myself divided between two worlds, past and current. But hearing my roommate laugh uproariously into the rain behind me jolted me back into the moment and reminded me of all I have to be grateful for here at Stanford.

    My water bottle has a small sticker on the side that displays the words “look up” on top of a backdrop of blue sky and white clouds. This, to me, is a reminder not only to focus on the beautiful things in my day that bring me joy (sunny skies, fairy lights, food) but to physically “look up,” to consciously notice my surroundings and engage with them. Being reminded of other parts of my life is natural and in fact, adds to my happiness by bringing back to me pieces of things and people I love. I don’t have this balance figured out yet, but I’m getting there each day.

    So next time you’re feeling particularly nostalgic, take a moment to accept it – you’re in the midst of a big change, and being happy and engaged every minute of every day isn’t a reasonable expectation. But then, look up – at whatever your version of fairy lights or beautiful skies might be, and appreciate the people around you right now. There’s so much light and possibility in the world around us when we look for it.

     

    Contact Julie Plummer at jplummer’at’stanford.edu.

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