Train Coming by Paige B. '24

Song: Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne

train coming.

Before MIT, I had never been on a plane before. Hell, I had barely left California, with the exception of one or two family trips to Las Vegas. So, when I went to the east coast for my freshman fall, I was terrified. I had no clue how things worked— even the supposedly “simple” things. I had no clue how to even board a plane, let alone how to get around the city I was moving to.⁠01 to be clear, my freshman fall was during COVID so I wasn't moving to campus, but I still decided to move to the east coast for reasons I'll get into later.

I was scared.

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At one point in The Curious Incidence of a Dog in the Nighttime (one of my favorite books and plays), Christopher Boone decides to run away from home, but he never had to navigate the world on his own before. It scared him too:

And then more people came into the little station and it became fuller and then the roaring began again and I closed my eyes and I sweated and felt sick and I felt the feeling like a balloon inside my chest and it was so big I found it hard to breathe.

In the play, Christopher pictures his dad helping him. His dad says:

Watch what the people do. Watch how they get on and off the train. Figure it out. Count the trains. Get the rhythm right. Train coming. Train stopped. Train going. Silence. Train coming. Train stopped. Train going. Silence. Train coming….

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When I got to the airport for my first ever flight, I watched what the people did, and I followed suit. And just like that, I wasn’t so scared anymore.

Because, sure, figuring out the world all by yourself can be scary– especially as someone who doesn’t really “go with the flow”. But following a sequence of steps? That– that I can do. And these ‘steps’ don’t just come out of thin air most of the time. More often than not, you can observe and extrapolate. Watch what people do, and take the next step.

The same thing is true in college… for the most part.

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My freshman spring was the first time I ever came to campus, and the adults who drove my friends and I to MIT were so nervous. They wanted a detailed outline of what to expect when we arrived: how to check in, where to go for our COVID test, etc. etc.. But I wasn’t nervous at all. I knew how arriving to MIT would look like as a first year:

Go to check in, and go where they tell you to go next.

Lo and behold, that’s exactly what happened.

I feel like this is a good example of what most of your freshman year looks like. At least during the first semester. The Office of the First Year does a really good job of trying to make sure that first years aren’t lost/confused about what you are supposed to be doing and when you are supposed to be doing it.

But what do you do when you don’t know what to do (as a first year or otherwise)? Or when, if nothing else, you’re ready for something to be different?

train stopped.

The reason I moved to the east coast my freshman fall (even though I couldn’t move to campus) was that I wanted something different. In this past blog, I wrote that the pros and cons of staying at home were as follows:

Pros: Safety and familiarity.
Cons: Safety and familiarity.

I had spent all of high school getting ready to one day go to college, and suddenly COVID was supposed to stop me? I didn’t think so. I didn’t know much, but I knew that I needed something different, and I didn’t know what to do. In the end, I figured it out on my own; I took a leap of faith and moved to New York.

When I feel that way at MIT– when I don’t know what to do– I no longer feel like I need to figure things out on my own.

Most of the time in undergrad, there is someone who has been where you are at some point in their lives. This means that when you’re struggling with something, you can almost always turn to someone else and talk to them about it. Now, this doesn’t mean that it isn’t necessarily hard to do so; it can be hard to be that open and vulnerable with another person.

But I think it’s important to try and talk to other people about these things. If anything, it gives you a chance to stop and reflect upon the situation yourself. Even if sometimes you’re left still needing to take a leap of faith.

train going.

This summer, I’ve been reflecting upon the fact that soon I will be applying to graduate school. I’ve been looking back on the past three years and realizing that in less than a year undergrad will be over. And you know what? I’m ready for something to be different. I think, for the first time, I’m ready to take this next step. But it’s still terrifying.

So, I’ve been talking to people. I’ve been reaching out to alum friends and talking to them about the application process and how I’m already stressed about it. The end result of these conversations is always the same: I’m still ready to apply. But it makes it less scary. Less mysterious. More… human.

It’s wild to me that three years ago I was just starting out here at MIT. I was barely learning the numbers of buildings and classes. And now here I am, preparing for one day being ready to leave. It’s the natural motion of the world. It’s the rhythm of the trains.

Train coming. Train stopped. Train going. Silence.

silence.

At the end of the play, Christopher reflects on all the things he’s done, and dreams about all the things he will one day do. And he essentially says: “You know how I know I can do these things? Look at all I’ve already done.” As if to say: I’ve made it this far.

He then turns to the audience and says: “Does that mean I can do anything, you think? Does that mean, I can do anything?” And before someone can give an answer, the stage fades to black.

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I’ve learned how to board a plane. I’ve struggled through three years at MIT. I’ve become comfortable in uncomfortability.

Does that mean I can do anything, you think? Does that mean, I can do anything?

Silence.