by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on October 9, 2025
Campus
I tap my fingertips on my thighs as I walk along the manicured path all the way to class. There is no longer a steering wheel to tap while I wait at a stoplight, or a radio knob to spin, creating a beat for my unoccupied foot to drum along to. Sometimes, the walk seems arduous. I must focus, eyes straight ahead, assuring myself that I’m going the right way, or that I won’t bump into a fellow freshman. Most people seem to know where they’re going—no GPS necessary.
Without a doubt, I love to walk, especially when I have no place to go. Loops and loops, noticing new things each time. The mellow breeze, the quiet air. A reliable ground, supple and forgiving. On the other hand, I find driving to be similar, yet its own tranquil activity. I could drive forever, no destination, miles of music and freedom. It’s been a while since I, and most underclassmen, have driven. Whether you enjoy it or not, driving allows for set-aside alone time to occur, garnering new insights and a thoughtful calmness.
Driving is an everyday task that is easy to take for granted. After doing it so frequently, the act of driving starts to feel habitual, almost primal. The wheel rotates, dutifully returning to the soft clasp of my hand. I incorporate my own customs—playing certain songs, always having coffee or tea, and driving with the windows slightly rolled down, regardless of season, letting the passing breeze seep in.
When my father had surgery, it seemed that the most trivial aspects of daily life were what he missed most. He was not physically able to drive; therefore, he couldn’t enjoy his piping hot coffee while listening to NPR on his way to work. Similarly, driving to school on a frigid December morning, protected and soothed by the comforts of a warm vehicle moving smoothly across the plowed pavement, is a feeling I’ll miss come wintertime. I’d watch the sun peak through the trees, gilded with sparkling icicles. The music playing would hum, cascade through my ears, and massage my brain.
Now, the apparent pricelessness of driving a car does not rule out the ultimate beauty of going places on foot. Whether it is running, walking, hiking, or just simply strolling—all are wonderful to me. As driving a car has taken the backseat for the time being, I’ve grown more contemplative on my walks to class. Walking with a friend is a pleasant, fortunate way to launch a long day of classes. Our frivolous stories and unremarkable conversations serve as the music, softly playing in the background of every car ride. Or, if we’re lucky, these conversations can be the most memorable we’ve ever had—a walk from Ray to Mondor—our music is booming, and blaring, as if we’re screaming our favorite songs on a spring morning in high school, with the windows rolled all the way down.