Grace Holleman

Like light on the Hudson River, John Jay Dining Hall changes throughout the day. Subtle shifts create distinct moods. There’s the 9 a.m. tranquility of a weekday morning, the buzz of lunchtime activity, the strange experience of a 4 p.m. post-class snack break, and the heart-pounding anxiety of navigating crowds for dinner during a theme night. Over the course of its 11 and a half hours of operation, John Jay oscillates between extremities of peace and chaos.

Sometimes, jostled by the 1 train, I miss driving. Colorado is a wide and open land; jagged, regal mountains spill into yellow plains under the expansive sky. Interstate 70 scrapes the side of Denver and curves westward to become a heavily trafficked, occasionally perilous mountain corridor. Its long tunnels, steep grades, and packs of long-haul trucks make me break out in hives, particularly in rain or snow.

Dear readers,

Dear readers,

After long days, I recommend long walks.

What followed wasn’t a punchline but a 28-page report.

If you’ve taken a math class at Columbia, chances are you’re familiar with the wall of mailboxes in Mathematics Hall. They serve as conduits, as a communication system between two distinct but mutually dependent parts of the University: the doers and the graders of homework.

At the beginning of this semester, just as I did at the start of the last, I walked four blocks to Book Culture with my syllabi in hand, ready to raid the store’s trove of pre-owned books. Later, flipping through my purchases, I discovered that some used volumes had been transformed from textbooks into objects brimming with historical and tactile significance.