Saying “I’ll try something new today” and never doing it.
SAYING “I’LL TRY SOMETHING NEW TODAY” AND NEVER DOING IT.
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The cafeteria, right? More than food, it was our daily academic rhythm's epicenter. We’d arrive, often sleep-deprived, clutching textbooks, scanning for that familiar table, that specific chair. For all the intellectual curiosity that drove us through demanding courses, our culinary adventurousness often dwindled to zero upon stepping through those doors.
Remember the routine? Monday’s mystery meat, Tuesday’s tacos – reliable, always there. We’d promise ourselves, "Today, I'll bypass the pasta line and explore the vegan options," or "I'll finally brave the salad bar, make an effort." Yet, time and again, we'd find ourselves unconsciously drifting towards the familiar comfort of the chicken and rice, or that surprisingly edible mac and cheese. It wasn't about a lack of options; it was about mental bandwidth. Every decision felt high-stakes elsewhere; here, we defaulted to the known.
Perhaps it was comfort in repetition amidst problem sets and presentations. That predictable meal, a small island of certainty in academic unknowns. The late-night snack runs for stale cookies, lukewarm coffee, fueled by desperation and deadlines. The hurried breakfasts before an 8 AM lecture. The debates over dinner stretching long into the night, solving world problems over questionable pizza. These weren't just meals; they were rituals, binding us in shared, unacknowledged understanding.
Even now, as alumni, do we carry that habit? The same coffee, the same lunch spot. That tiny, unspoken promise to shake things up, only to return to comforting predictability. The cafeteria chronicled our fundamental human need, intertwined with academic pressure. It was where we refueled, recharged, and reverted to the tried and true. What was your default? What did you always say you’d try?