Among the wackier experiences I’ve had on the Hill, one of my personal favorites happened in the spring semester of my junior year.

I woke up one morning pretty much unable to hear out of my left ear. I’ll spare you of the grotesque details (you probably get the gist), but my deafness was severe enough that I ended up doing something I had never done before in my three years on the Hill: ring up the Health Center.

I made an appointment with Maureen, and a few hours later we met in an examination room. She shook my hand and sat down at the computer across from me.

“Isn’t it just a

beautiful

day out there?” she exclaimed, with a kind of unbridled enthusiasm that caught me off guard. “I just

can’t wait

to get outside and take a walk or something!”

As we began chatting about my ear, my eyes slowly migrated to the window. Maureen was right — it was absolutely beautiful outside. Why was this epiphany only occurring to me now? It was the sort of day where blue skies and warm sunlight functioned as a sort of buffer between me and reality —

I have two drafts to read in the writing center and three finals coming up, but hey, the weather today totally slaps.

The day was my battle but the weather was my armor, protecting me from whatever might come my way. I felt incredible.

Five minutes later, Maureen and I wrapped things up. She identified the source of my deafness, handed me a much-needed remedy, and scheduled a follow-up appointment for next week. I waved goodbye and we shook hands. Smalltalk aside, the whole interaction was the paradigm of efficiency — just how I like it.

But as I walked out, Maureen told me something I’ll never forget. “Oh and Bryce,” she said, veering out the door, “promise me you don’t forget to look up today — it’s just gorgeous!” She pointed her index finger upwards as her eyes followed, almost as if to make sure I knew what it meant to

actually

look up.

I walked out of the health center unable to stop thinking about Maureen’s words. Truthfully, I found her reminder somewhat revolutionary. After all, I tend, as one friend told me, to “walk with an agenda”: neck tilted downwards at a 45º angle, earphones blasting, and mind exclusively focused on the next appointment in my schedule, all without any consideration for the happenings of the outside world. It had gotten so bad that at least twice a day I received Snapchat videos of me bristling throughout campus, each zooming in on my focused face and arched neck (

“watch out real quick, he coming for you,”

one read). Even my Chinese professor had decided to intervene, telling me at Chinese table she was “extremely concerned” about my posture whilst walking. Was Maureen somehow in on the scoop?

On a deeper level though, Maureen’s words were a reminder to recognize the bigger picture — to put everything into perspective. On a day where all I could think about were my deafness and impending exams, I had forgotten that the sun was shining and the skies were blue for the first time in what seemed like eons. That broader context, I realized, augmented my appreciation for the moment in all the right ways.

I immediately thought of all the friendly faces I’d ignored on Martin’s Way over the years, instead prioritizing speed and max volume Post Malone (to those curious: highly recommended). Or the campus events I could have serendipitously slipped into for free food or new friends en route to wherever I was headed. All of these wonderful missed-out opportunities were now forgotten deep into the abyss, all because it had never occurred to me to simply look up.

I find Maureen’s reminder to “look up” especially relevant today. No doubt the Hamilton community faces unprecedented challenges with the COVID-19 pandemic — especially for seniors like me, who have been stripped of a quarter we’ve cherished and idealized for years. Commencement and senior week have been cancelled. We’re graduating in a recession. And video chatting has become the bedrock of our social interactions, resulting in a palpable yearning for the type of physical co-presence we once took for granted. It’s easy to be cynical about our current state of affairs, and understandably so.

Now that I’m back in California though, I often find myself heeding Maureen’s words and looking up at the sky. It’s blue here, probably some sort of metaphor that I’m lucky and privileged to be safe at home. But I spend a whole lot of time thinking about what the sky looks like for my friends, for my professors, and for other members of the Hamilton community. For some of us, this whole ordeal has been a reminder to be grateful for what we have: that we’re unbelievably lucky to still have a top-notch education, friends to stay in touch with, and wonderful memories on College Hill that we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives. And just as we’ve lost out on new experiences we could have had on the Hill, we’re creating new ones now, with our friends over Zoom and with our families in person. All these good things make the pandemic feel at least marginally less mighty, and have been a critical source of fuel for me as I make sense of all that’s happening now.

But for others, it’s also emblematic of the difficulties that are yet to come. Thousands of Hamiltonians across the world are struggling, thinking of the challenges COVID-19 poses for their present and for their future. For them, the bigger picture is by no means a time for positive introspection — it signals a harsh, scary, and sudden confrontation with reality.

Still, I urge you — wherever you are in the world — to never forget to look up. As I learned that day with Maureen, it reminds us that the world is bigger than ourselves — that there is value in putting everything into perspective, and that there will always be little victories (like the weather!) we can all universally relish as a community. That corollary has been the lodestar of my approach to this pandemic, because it’s reminded me that I’m never truly alone, and that we’re all in this together (cue the

High School Musical

reference).

In my view, the beauty of it all is really this: we all look up to the same sky. It’s bright for some of us and gloomy for others, but ultimately, we all look up with the same sort of appreciation we had for that first-of-Spring blue sky back in Clinton. It’s what unifies us during these difficult times, and reminds us that, just as gloomy skies inevitably make way for a beautiful Spring day, better days lie ahead. Indeed, I’ve found that looking up forces us to take a step back, take it all in, and understand the things that really matter. At its core, it grounds our sense of appreciation.

As I packed my belongings for the last time that crazy March day, I finally realized what a wonderful gift difficult goodbyes are. They’re hard because we’re forced to part with something we’ve come to love — something we never really wanted to end. But in looking up, I’m reminded what a luxury it is to have found something like that at a place like Hamilton. All because I had woken up with a clogged ear, and all because I had decided to make an appointment at the health center.

And if you’re reading this, Maureen: you’re an absolute gem. One of my biggest regrets of senior year is never going to one of your spin classes (especially as I turn into a couch potato back at home).