I came to Stanford seeking answers. But what I found were new ways of seeing myself.
Before arriving, I thought Stanford would give me answers.
Answers about choices, career paths, and who I was supposed to become.
I thought those answers would be hidden in lectures, books, and networking conversations.
But over the course of this year, I’ve come to realize:
Stanford isn’t a map that teaches you how to succeed — it’s a mirror.
In the hardest moments and the most uncertain choices, I started to confront something deeper:
My ways of thinking, my judgments, and how I relate to growth itself.
Here are six mindset shifts I’ve experienced during my first year:
1. I wanted to be the best → I want to be my unique self
When I first arrived, I was constantly driven by anxiety.
Everyone around me seemed exceptionally capable
— so I pushed myself to keep up in every class, show up in every social setting, and plan my internship early.
I believed: as long as I became “good enough,” I wouldn’t be left behind.
I kept comparing: Who’s better? Am I good enough?
Later I realized — being “better” is easy. Being “different” is hard.
You can’t always keep up with your peers. But you can always dig deeper into what makes you uniquely valuable.
2. I craved to be understood and liked → I started understanding myself and embracing differences
This year, what changed wasn’t just my relationships — it was how I related to relationships .
I used to instinctively accommodate others in conversations, trying to be the “reliable, warm, appropriate” person.
I would constantly wonder: Did that sound polite? Was that the “right” answer?
But the more I tried to be likable, the more I felt blurry.
After being overly eager to please , I felt hollow. After expressing, I felt drained.
I started to ask myself:
Am I communicating — or just pleasing?
I began practicing saying: “I’m not sure.” “I need to think.” “I disagree.”
These don’t sound charming — but they brought me back to myself.
The prerequisite for making people like you is being yourself.
3. I obsessed over the optimal path → I started to believe detours are the shortcut
I used to be fixated on “figuring out the right path in advance.”
When choosing projects, planning courses, or thinking about the future, I always looked for the “safest, most optimal combination.”
I calculated ROI for everything: What will I gain from this? Will it be a waste of time?
I built spreadsheets, compared others’ paths, and simulated outcomes —
trying to predict the next three years.
I thought that would help me avoid mistakes.
But I still made them.
Eventually, I started asking a different question:
“If I don’t walk this path, will I ever know what truly matters to me?”
Looking back, I’m grateful for the detours.
They helped me eliminate illusions — and understand myself through experience , not assumption.
Experience is not the result of prediction. It’s the residue of action.
4. I wanted someone to give me the answer → I started building my own
I used to admire people who had “figured it out.”
If they told me, “You’re meant to do XX,” I thought I’d see the light.
Mentors, seniors, interviewers, industry leaders — I assumed their advice must be right, because they knew more and had seen further.
But I eventually learned:
They weren’t wrong — but that didn’t mean they were right for me .
I tried to merge all their input into a unified model to guide my path.
But in doing so, I was outsourcing the responsibility of choosing.
Only you know what you care about — what you’re not willing to give up.
The path that belongs to you emerges as you say no to what doesn’t.
5. I used to be drawn to titles and halos → I began to be wary of projection and imagination
At Stanford, people with big titles are everywhere.
For a long time, if someone had an impressive title, I instinctively assumed they were more capable, more trustworthy, more “right.”
But I overlooked something:
Misjudgments often don’t come from lies — they come from our own imagination.
I projected too much “should” and “hope” onto someone’s title, and lost sight of reality.
Now when I look at people, I pay attention to their motives and actions , not just their resumes.
A title is a business card — not a guarantee of thought or action.
6. I feared showing where I stand → I started practicing having a point of view
This year, I started expressing my views — frequently.
Sometimes I was challenged in class.
Sometimes I was questioned on my writing.
Sometimes I had to hold an unpopular view in conversation.
I used to fear these moments —
fear of conflict, fear of being wrong, fear of not fitting in.
But I realized:
Only through expression do you reveal your blind spots — and begin developing real judgment.
If you don’t speak up, you won’t be challenged.
But you also won’t grow.
Only when your views are clear can you discover their limits — and open the possibility for change.
This year at Stanford, my greatest shift wasn’t in skills or achievements —
It was letting go of the need for a “right answer,” and beginning to build my own judgment system.
I’m still searching for direction.
But I’m no longer rushing to find certainty.
Life is a gift. I want to live it with more presence and self-trust.