If He Wanted To, He Would

by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on March 19, 2026

Opinion - Society

I don’t necessarily endorse the hackneyed phrase: “If he wanted to, he would.” I also don’t see the benefit in gendering such terms, as no person is bound to a certain relationship restrictions. I am a young woman, I want many things, and I do them. If I don’t want something, I won’t give it my energy, unless it is required of me. However, I find it true that the absence of effort will lead to the absence of an ideal or well-rounded relationship.

Thoughtful humans seek companionship in all its forms. When my father shares stories about his friends growing up, I can feel the compassion carefully threaded through his words as memories infiltrate his head. At that juncture in his life, his friends were all that he needed. Friends were the center of his life, providing the reliable laughs, promised mischief, and trusting other halves. The friendships people share reveal their ability to bond with everyone else.

Romantic relationships are also built on developed, loving friendships. My father and mother have been married for over 30 years, and I believe the success in their marriage emanates from the committed friendship they nurtured during their younger years. Even when they were romantically dating, they spent real time together, traveled, explored, and shared meaningful experiences—in the same way that best friends would. Their relationship and marriage were not successful merely because my father “wanted” to make it work or because my mother recognized that he was displaying effort as the saying seems to imply. Sure, effort is integral to a relationship where two are both seeking the same outcome—marriage, children, commitment—but how is that effort balanced? How is it allocated throughout the relationship? A fulfilling relationship where both parties are happy and continuously satisfied does not depend on one party deciding that they want to be there and acting accordingly. The relationship calls for equilibrium. It calls for a steady, balanced scale.

If I wanted to, I would. Friendships, romantic relationships, and even being a dedicated family member, all warrant the desire to be there. The compassion one feels towards another person only enhances that magnetism, a force that leads people towards each other who are just meant to be there, to connect, and to experience each other. Each day, from the moment I wake up to the moment I end my night, I am making perpetual decisions that lead me closer to an outcome I wish for. My energy and the choices I make based on what my heart sings for linger around the relationships most important to me. I am emboldened by the hobbies that fulfill me, and my personal achievements that build my identity, or my foundation to be a steady, applied member of a relationship. Without any idea of who I am, what I enjoy, or where my values lie, I would be unable to sufficiently dedicate myself to anyone else. It can be a work in progress, a continuous climb towards who I long to be, because no one can ever truly be there at all times. If I start at the grassroots, promise myself to remain authentic and consistent, I’ll understand a great deal about myself and I’ll feel confident that I can show these parts to another person.

There have been junctures in my life where I was unsure of who I was and what outcomes I’d like to strive for. I knew I loved to write, but I never made the time to exercise my creativity. I loved sports, physical activity, and being outside, but I’d make excuses for myself like, “I’m too tired today,” “I am busy with something else,” or “I’ll start tomorrow.” These common phrases do not so much indicate a lack of interest in what I love, but are telling that I hadn’t learned the power of applying myself and my effort, and seeing how those outcomes expand, flourish, and reflect who I want to be in new, profound ways.

It is not always a feasible process in discovering your own potential, and how your potential becomes transferable throughout your relationships. Maybe you can expect a comfortable, healthy space for growth between yourself and another person when you are learning who you are, but finding the people who are willing to stay with you, as staunch supporters of your flexible, fluid identity, is a representation of secure compassion. They are the other side of your scale, your balance, the anchor to your drifting boat.

We need to meet people where they are. It is impossible to bind someone to the notion that they must do something just because they want to. We do things when we realize how important they are to us, which is a concept we can only grasp when we’ve dug deep enough into our core in an attempt to scoop out the answers. Humans are always seeking answers, so eventually, we’ll all be doing what we want because it matters to us and because our passions are guiding us through what is still left undiscovered. We must stop placing trust in cliché phrases and allowing our relationships to be dependent on them. Instead, we can trust that with time, trial and error, and through quiet, thoughtful states, we’ll all find what we deem the most valuable to us. Our cores will breathe with clarity, bursting with light, and we’ll share these passions with each other. Then, after great consideration of what one desires to fulfill in their life, the phrase, “If he wanted to, he would,” could be justified.

Where Am I, and Where Are You?

by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on January 29, 2026

Opinion - Entertainment & Society

My best friend from back home will forever be my best friend from back home. When we are married with children, have moved away to where we’ve always dreamed of living, and have filled our households with homemade meals our mothers taught us to cook, artwork obtained throughout our travels, and beloved albeit deteriorating furniture from our first apartments, she will still be my best friend from home. I will look at her across the dining room table, adorned with flowers from the garden and a lambent glow from candlelight, and I will see her running through the backyard of my childhood home in her bathing suit, sunburnt and covered in grass. I will see her wrapped in a sleeping bag with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, the Christmas lights strung along the ceiling of my basement dangling over us. I will see her on prom night, our senior year, winding light pink ribbon around my bouquet of flowers that had disbanded in the pouring rain. My heart will ache with love for her, adoration, and the scent of her—fresh-picked lavender and faint incense—will pull me back home, to where we grew up, together, all at once.

It is an extreme challenge to separate people from places, faces from memories. You can separate yourself, move away, begin a new period of your life, but those connections—the scents that trigger emotions, the songs that remind you of specific people, and even a mere mention of a saying you used to hear all the time—they’re irremovable. As people—especially observant, empathetic people—we commonly practice making associations between feelings and places, usually related to a person you have vivid memories with. Regardless of where I am, or how long it has been since I’ve been back home, I will always remember the smallest things—what some might call the most trivial details—about people, and it doesn’t take much to remind me. The soft veil of sunlight over the tops of the trees, perceptible through the hallway window, brings me back to long hikes in early spring, obscure places with my family, being young and dragging my feet, but I was always gaining something. The air always felt light and delicate in my lungs; my brother’s lapis blue down jacket kept me warm, never letting me down. My brother and I would make crude jokes as we leaped over the roots of trees and skidded across wooden bridges over rippling creeks. We’d watched too much Cartoon Network, and our humor was infused with the clever yet slightly inappropriate humor of The Amazing World of Gumball. One memory trickles into another, and before I know it I am a little kid again, hiking, sledding, dancing to Lady Gaga, or eating hot dogs in the tiny shop I had no idea I’d work in one day.

No matter where you are, you are with all the people you’ve ever met. Your new friends may share the same smile lines as your oldest friend, or a guttural laugh similar to your father’s. Your ex that occasionally crosses your mind may appear within a restaurant menu or scribed in the lines of a new book, words they once said, or phrases you’ll never forget. Sometimes these reminders are like whispers, a gentle call to memory, growing latent in the back of your mind. Other times, the memories rattle your brain. They are rapturous, or miserable, or so overwhelming they are indistinguishable. Regardless, you’ll never shake people from your life. Your memories may become less fervent, less relevant to the time, but one way or another, you leave a mark on everyone you meet, and they’ve left something for you.

It is imperative that you stay in touch with those who are in different places; the ones you have inevitably separated from, yet they remain just as important to who you are. People make up each other—I have learned things from my childhood best friend that I’ll never learn from anyone else, created irreplaceable memories with new friends, and been loved by my family in a way no one else ever could. No matter where I am, I will remind myself of where you are, and when I’m unsure, I’ll let my memories guide me to you.