“Ephemeral Moments, Eternal Impact”

Uncertain Certainty

by Anne Rack, 2025

When I first entered the gates of Wake Forest as a student in August of 2021, I was terrified. Like many freshmen, I worried that I was not smart enough to be here, would not be able to make friends, and would not find a home for myself on this campus. During the new student convocation, the freshman class wrote letters to their future selves. That day in Wait Chapel, surrounded by strangers I would spend the next four years with, I wrote that I hoped my journey at this university would bring me confidence. At the time, I viewed confidence as certainty. I wished that after four years, I would feel certain in myself, my professional path, and my choices. I struggled with the anxiety of the unknown, and therefore, my main goal as a student was the simple task of leaving this campus having it all figured out.

My first semester was humbling. I felt alien to this environment and was convinced that everyone who passed by me knew it. I had decided to take an Introduction to Economics course because, as someone hoping to enter it one day, I thought it high time to learn what an economy was. Having previously struggled with math, I walked into that class expecting it to be difficult. I studied hard for my first exam, but much of this studying was filled with mental gripes and complaints about how math does not come easily to me. Needless to say, I failed that test; my first grade as a student at Wake Forest University was an F. This failure truly put things into perspective; I could either sit back and complain or put the work in. I chose the latter, spending hours upon hours on the sixth floor of ZSR pouring over my economics textbook. To this day, I have never been prouder to receive a final grade of a B plus. That class, though the bane of my existence at the time, taught me the importance of resilience. 

The following semester, in my Introduction to Psychology course, I was introduced to the concept of the self-fulfilling prophecy. The self-fulfilling prophecy posits that a person’s expectations or beliefs influence their behavior. In other words, beliefs drive behavior, and your beliefs about yourself directly influence your actions. This ten-minute segment of the lecture fundamentally altered my worldview. There I was, in the basement of Greene, surrounding by 60 of my peers, faced with an epiphany: I was the problem. I reflected on my time thus far at Wake and realized that the issue was not the people, the environment, or the course material: it was my mindset. 

From that day forward, I chose a new way of thinking. Instead of complaining about the course material, I accepted that I would have to work hard to get my desired results. Instead of worrying about my imagined judgment by others, I focused on the positive interactions I had. To say that all of my thoughts since this realization have been positive or constructive would be a bald-faced lie. However, when I catch myself being preemptively pessimistic, I remember the lecture given that day in the basement of Greene and appreciate again the power that my mindset holds in shaping my reality. 

As I progressed through my majors, I began taking research method courses. The first lesson in these courses is that nothing can be definitively proven. Even the things we accept as the most unshakeable of facts have a degree of uncertainty. As someone who hated unanswered questions, this universal truth floored me. I learned that the more you know about a topic, the more you realize just how much you do not know. Answering one question creates more questions; the pursuit of knowledge is a never-ending process.

During the winter break of my junior year, I went home excited about my experience at Wake thus far. Yet, seeking knowledge leads to other questions; I discovered that learning more about myself also illuminated the many unknown aspects of my identity. Over dinner, my mother asked the foreseeable and dreaded question of what I wanted to do over the summer and, ultimately, when I graduated. I launched into a frantic ramble about how I felt too young to make decisions that would impact the rest of my life. In response, my mother offered one of the most reassuring and horrifying pieces of wisdom I have ever received: that she has always felt 22. Though I am still a few months shy of meeting that mark, I cannot imagine that I will wake up on my birthday with all of the answers. Yet my mother, the source of stability and reassurance throughout my life, feels only marginally older than I am. In that moment, it became clear to me that the certainty I longed for was nothing more than an illusion. 

When I began my journey at Wake, I believed confidence meant feeling assured about your path. Now, I cannot say much with certainty, but I can say that despite the best wishes of my freshman self, I will certainly not leave this campus having it all figured out. Today, as I contemplate where I will be in one year, five years, or ten years, I cannot provide a clear answer. In fact, the uncertainties that plagued me when I began my journey here have only multiplied. Yet, these unknowns, which once only filled me with anxiety, now spark my curiosity and excitement. Through my time at Wake Forest, I have come to understand that confidence looks different than I initially thought. I have discovered the importance of hard work and resiliency, the power of mindset, and the necessity of accepting that there will always be unknowns. These lessons have shown me that confidence does not mean having certainty about future actions; it means having certainty in your abilities. I will not leave this campus having it all figured out, but I will graduate certain in my ability to face forthrightly and confidently those uncertainties that lie ahead. For that, I am truly grateful to Wake Forest University.

Unmasking Confidence

by Elise English, 2025

My senior year of high school, I opted out of taking AP Calculus. 

I thought surely this would be the reason why I was not equipped for Wake Forest, or Work Forest, as my chipper tour guide referred to the university on my admitted students tour of campus that spring. This tour occurred on the first warm day of the spring semester, and I witnessed students casually throwing a frisbee on the quad and others taking the time to talk to their friends while sitting in rocking chairs up on balconies in the sun between classes. These scenes on campus seemed suspiciously perfect, and for an unexplainable reason, I was absolutely convinced that every single person I saw that day was smarter than me.

Once home, I would often imagine what my daily routine as a Demon Deacon may look like – walking past pristinely landscaped brick buildings with lectures on international politics floating around in my mind.However, self-doubt had a habit of creeping into my brain, and in any instance, my thoughts could spiral, crafting scenarios of how I may have slipped through the cracks of the mysterious workings of the Porter Byrum admissions building. I truly believed that there was no way that I could be going to Wake Forest. It felt like a sick joke to play on a high school girl who felt as if she was on the cusp of her entire future after her tassel was turned on that gold cap and her bags were packed to head down south. 

The sun in Winston-Salem felt a bit brighter than at home, I fell in love with southern food, and I was quickly blessed with incredible friends. But, once classes began, I felt that familiar surge of self-doubt creep in again. The students sitting in the desks around me seemed to understand everything the professor was talking about, while I sat back and took it all in. Many of my peers were displaying a kind of academic confidence that I did not know how to replicate. 

At some point early on in this first semester, I remember getting a notification on my phone and looking down to see it was from my mom. As many moms do, she had sent me an inspirational quote she saw on Instagram, about overcoming imposter syndrome.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines imposter syndrome as “the persistent inability to believe that one’s success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one’s own efforts or skills.” Despite its intimidating title, I deeply resonated with what was just described. I often felt overwhelmed and out of place in academic settings at Wake Forest. 

By the fall of my junior year, I realized I was situated in a scenario that I could have never imagined. I was living in Washington, D.C., working a 9-5 internship with real-life politicians and policy makers while taking night classes with a Wake Forest professor, managing the workload with a smile and passion behind my eyes. Toward the end of the semester in the lobby of my apartment building, I sat down with Dr. Harriger, a now recently-retired professor of the Politics and International Affairs department, anxiously waiting to hear her thoughts on my first draft of the essay required for my internship credit, the longest paper I had written in my life at that point. I was prepared for her to tell me that I have a long way to go until it was an acceptable paper for Wake Forest’s standards. Instead, soon after I took my seat, she simply told me, “You are a very strong writer, and this paper looks great.” We went over some minor edits and I rode the elevator back up to my apartment while crafting a text to my mom to share the good news.

I confess that I am completely partial to words of affirmation. Since this moment, I have used Dr. Harriger’s encouraging words to kickstart my last three semesters as a Wake Forest student and as a writer in general. Although I still find my course loads academically challenging and stimulating, I have been able to approach my life as a student with a new sense of confidence and excitement, knowing that my work and contributions in class are valuable and worthy of being heard. I view my Wake Washington semester as something of a turning point in my college journey, because it was a time when I had the opportunity to fully demonstrate to myself the extent of my capabilities.

Time seems to pass very quickly in college. 

I spent the summer before my senior year away from home, in Winston-Salem, researching different aspects of character. On a particular day of this research fellowship, humility arose as a topic of discussion. I chose to initiate a conversation on imposter syndrome, inquiring if it could be synonymous with humility, or instead, just self-deprecation. My peers seemed to fully engage in this conversation, some sharing similar experiences to my own. This conversation opened my eyes to consider imposter syndrome from a new perspective. The concept is not a type of protective mechanism, to prevent me from getting into situations where I will not be able to stay afloat. Instead, it is a barrier, keeping me from engaging with what I want to experience and accomplish. 

I know that I was admitted into Wake Forest fair and square. I was never an imposter on this campus. I have learned that I have belonged here all along. Like the day I witnessed on my campus tour, I have experienced three of the first warm days of a spring semester, and when that day rolls around each year I am always reminded of how far I have come. When this next spring arrives, I will be gearing up to leave Wake Forest as a more resilient and confident version of myself. I want to thank Wake Forest, with all of its wonderful people and opportunities, for guiding my transformation.

What is College For?

by Sydney Aikens, 2025

During my first semester as a freshman here at Wake, I enrolled in a discussion group entitled “What is College For?” put on by the Leadership and Character Program. At the time, I was eager to find out the answer to the question, but truly unaware of all that I would gain from my experiences here over the next four years. Over several weeks, our small group including students from all different years and backgrounds set out to answer the question, “What is college for?” We decided that it is for gaining far more than the education and the degree. We discussed how college is a time between the safety and familiarity of childhood, and the complete independence of adulthood. It is a time to engage with our community, learn about ourselves, and explore subjects beyond what is required for our career yet arguably just as enriching. 

During my freshman year, I was surprised to find myself eager to wake up early for an 8 a.m. course. Despite never having been a morning person, I didn’t want to miss the opportunities and lessons each day held at this new place I called home. Sophomore year I fell in love with many areas of study finding it difficult to decide on a major, but ended up choosing philosophy which I can now confidently say was the right decision. My junior fall was when I went abroad to Madrid, and the world became my classroom as I visited 7 different countries. This experience brought me far beyond my comfort zone, posing new challenges such as meeting friends, confronting foreign cultures, and pushing myself to make the most of my short time there. I found myself right at home upon returning to Wake for my Junior spring, hoping to make the most of my remaining time here.

 I learned how to face new challenges each semester with excitement and pride, knowing that they would all be learning experiences and would help direct my path. At first the challenge was fitting in with a class full of very smart strangers, learning how to take responsibility for myself, my schedule, and my mental health. Later, the challenge was stepping into leadership roles, taking steps toward my future career, and preparing to say goodbye to my closest friends. The many firsts and failures over these years were blessings in disguise because they have pushed me to come to new realizations about myself and my place in this world.  

As the end of my senior year approaches, it feels bittersweet. I know that I have truly gained all that I wanted and more over my years here, making me confident to move on to the next thing. At the same time, I know I will miss this special time and place, the friends I made, the amazing professors, and the opportunities to get involved in all areas of learning. I know that as I leave, I do not leave it all behind. I know the knowledge Wake Forest gave me will be with me to guide my next steps, and the warm memories we made in freshman residence halls, the pit, Tribble hall, ZSR and the quad will never fade.

As excited as I am to walk across the stage on the upper quad this May with my degree in hand, I look back and see how much more this Wake Forest experience has meant to me. I look back to my freshman self who once asked “what is college for?”. She faces the inquiry of what all of this is supposed to mean, unsure of whether she will be able to get the most out of it. I can confirm to her that she need not worry, she is definitely in the right place.

As I reflect on these formative years, I’ve come to realize that the beauty of the college experience lies in its unpredictability and the countless opportunities it offers to grow in ways you never anticipated. From late-night conversations that challenged my worldview to moments of self-discovery sparked by a single lecture or a professor’s encouragement, Wake Forest became more than just a place to earn a degree. It became a space where I could embrace uncertainty, make mistakes, and learn from them in an environment that fostered my growth and curiosity. These moments, both big and small, have woven together to create a richer and more meaningful tapestry of my time here than I ever could have imagined.

Even though I tried my best to enter my college years prepared for what was ahead, I have learned more than I could have imagined through the people I have met, courses I have taken, and clubs I have joined. As someone who entered freshman year completely undecided on what I wanted to study, I am grateful to see now how each step of the way, the people around me, and experiences I had were guiding me into the direction I am passionately headed in today. Each moment was unexpected but turned out to lead me in the right direction. What Wake had in store for my education was more than what I could have planned for myself. And now I know what college was really for.

To Achieve the Unknown

by Lisi Chapin, 2025

Growing up I would avoid the unknown. Things that I was good at, I would excel in; things I wasn’t good at, I didn’t dare to even try. In 4th grade I would be sent home from school whenever my ponytail got messed up, because I didn’t know how to do my own hair and didn’t want anyone to know that; so I’d tell the nurse I threw up. Until 5th grade I didn’t have any shoes with laces, because I didn’t know how to tie them. In 8th grade I remember running alongside my friends as they biked around our neighborhood because I couldn’t ride a bike as well as them. I missed out on countless pool parties because I didn’t know how to swim, and in high school I would avoid reading out loud at all costs because I would stutter over every word. 

I was so scared that my friends, teachers, and society would judge me because I didn’t know how to do something that everyone else knew how to do. This stopped me from trying new things and achieving so much more than what I limited myself too. I tell you this not to embarrass myself, but to show you how much I missed out on, because I was scared to be judged for the knowledge I lacked. 

This all changed when I got my schedule for my first semester at Wake Forest. I realized that I had been placed into Spanish 212, even though Spanish has always been one of my worst subjects. Similarly to other things I was bad at, in my past Spanish classes I wouldn’t raise my hand, and I would avoid speaking at all costs. If I don’t speak, I can’t be wrong. 

The first day of Spanish class I walked up to my Professor, Professor Bennett, and told him that I should not be in Spanish 212. That for some reason they placed me in this class and I really shouldn’t be in it. He looked at me and said, ‘Try this class for 2 weeks, there are only 7 other students in it. I’ll help you with whatever material you find difficult.’ I grudgingly agreed, thinking I would drop the class in two weeks. 

What I didn’t know is that this class would change my entire perspective as a student and in my life. The next two weeks we read some really interesting stories, and with the help of Professor Bennett, for once I actually understood them. Everytime Professor Bennett would teach a new concept he would look at me and search my eyes for understanding. He would then explain the concept in a different way until he saw me nodding my head along with what he was saying. After two weeks I decided I was going to stay in the class. It turns out that when you actually understand what’s going on, Spanish class can be pretty interesting. By the end of the semester I was raising my hand and answering every question I could. Professor Bennett began cold calling me, which used to make me want to cry, but now felt like a badge of honor as he knew that I would have an answer. Professor Bennett unfortunately left Wake Forest the next year, but I wish I could tell him that the scared Freshman who begged him to let her drop the class, is now a Spanish major. His kindness and patience is what led me to further my education not only in Spanish, but in every other class I have taken since.  

This class made me realize that when you aren’t knowledgeable in a subject, it isn’t a problem to worry about, but rather an opportunity for improvement. An opportunity to expand your skills and become a more comprehensive individual.

After this class I took more classes that I normally would struggle in, but I thought I would learn a lot from. In all of them, I achieved greatly and had amazing opportunities that I never would have experienced without pushing myself to expand my knowledge into the unknown. I started by taking a computer science class to learn more about coding. This decision ended up helping me get my position at a healthcare software company that I will start in June following my graduation. Of course I continued taking Spanish classes which led me to Professor Sanhuezas class. I’ve taken a few classes with Professor Sanhueza and in every one she has driven me to exceed expectations, both hers and mine. I excelled in her class and was asked to be a Teaching Assistant for the 300 level class the next semester. I then decided to take a class on Irish Women in Film and Literature, which became my new hyperfixation. I started doing my own research, and was awarded the Richter Scholarship with the help of Professor Balzano. I had the opportunity to travel to Ireland and research a small printing press, called the Dolmen Press. Now, I am an expert on the Dolmen Press and have seen more published and unpublished works of the writers and artists than anyone since the Press was still operating. In a class I took called Drugs and the Media, once again I became invested in the content. Our graduate teaching assistant, Gina Giorgio, asked me to help her do research for her thesis on how Psychedelics are portrayed in the media. Other graduate students across the country are now citing her paper in their theses. 

These classes I took simply because I wanted to learn more of what I didn’t know. In all of them I asked every question I could think of that I thought would better my understanding of the subject. I gained invaluable experiences from all of them and realized I loved learning about the unknown. I no longer thought twice about raising my hand to ask or answer a question. 

This lesson didn’t only push me to try new classes but influenced me to try other things that scared me. Even though I have never acted in my life I starred in a sketch comedy show here at Wake. Even though my swimming ability is still questionable, I went surfing with Outdoor Pursuits over Fall Break. I have never traveled alone, but last Spring I solo hiked the Pyrenees and part of the Camino de Santiago during my time abroad. I don’t consider myself a runner, but I still completed a half marathon. I’ve always been afraid of heights, but I challenged that fear by going skydiving. I found myself setting new goals that I never thought I’d have the ambition or courage to achieve. Maybe to some of you these achievements aren’t overly impressive or extraordinary, but for the girl who was terrified she’d drown at the class pool party and refused to read out loud. These achievements mean everything. They are what lead me to my new found purpose, of experiencing everything I can, and plunging myself into the unknown. 

Too often do we fear looking foolish, that we limit ourselves to what we know and what we are good at. I’ve discovered new interests, acquired new skills, and have achieved so much by trying things I am not familiar with. Sometimes I get the right answer on the first try, sometimes it takes 10 tries. My time at Wake Forest has taught me that I shouldn’t fear what people will think of me if I don’t know the correct response to a question, or even how many tries it takes. The only thing I need to fear is never trying to answer it. I want to thank Wake Forest and all the Professors who pushed me to be my greatest self. The me, who raises my hand to answer every question, who tries new and scary things, and the me that is no longer a passive observer in my own life. Thank you for teaching me that the unknown is nothing to fear, but an opportunity to grow. 

To be Welcomed by Nothing

by Douglas Giles, 2025

I’m walking through the forest. It is a dark, rainy and reasonably chilly night as my  classmates, professor, and I embark on a search for the wonders of the Costa Rican cloud  forest ecosystem. Our group of environmentally curious students from across the United  States had recently arrived to Monteverde, a small town that attracts 70,000 tourists every  year to enjoy its wildlife and natural beauty. We are searching for signs of the many  amphibian and reptile species known in this area. 

Guided by our headlamps, we resemble a string of Christmas lights as we walk  single file along a narrow trail. Everyone vigilantly scans small streams, riverbanks, and the  dense blanket of leaves that carpet the forest floor. We hope to see the inconspicuous  shapes of life that could warrant a stop. After a period of trudging through heavy and humid  air, our professor instructs us all to gather. We clump up slowly and turn off our  headlamps. We are immediately enveloped in complete darkness as the surrounding trees  block out the scarce starlight on this cloudy evening. In silence, we meditate on the many  sounds that come from a forest. As we listen, we hope to hear the distinct calls of frogs in  the canopy or on the ground around us. We wait. And wait. And wait. But the only sounds to  reach our ears are from the drops of rain falling through the trees and the wall of chirping  provided by the insects. 

We all know what this means, though our professor, with clear disappointment in  his voice, still announces to us the harsh truth: there is nothing here to find. With the lights  still off, he begins to reminisce about a time, maybe five or ten years ago, when he visited this same forest. Then he had spotted dozens of frogs or lizards with relative ease. Now he  tells us that the enveloping silence marks a troubling change. 

This occurrence is not unique to this specific plot of forest in Monteverde, but is  indicative of a much larger phenomenon happening throughout the world, especially in  these tropical environments. Since the 1980s, these amphibian species have seemed to  vanish with no explanation. This devastation is true not only for areas that are heavily  impacted by humans directly through development or habitat degradation, but also in the  most pristine of environments. Even forests “untouched” by humans are no longer  dominated by the calls of these frogs that are now mysteriously absent. This fact has  puzzled scientists and led to many questions over the last few decades about what could  cause these anomalies. These are the questions that came to my mind as I stood, listening  in the forest—listening in vain.  

Looking back, I am also overcome with a sense of dread that irreparable harm has  been done. Today the harm may be to this part of Costa Rica but tomorrow it could touch  any number of places in the world. If this trend continues, I am afraid that when we go in  search of nature, we will be welcomed by nothing. 

Our society is to blame for our current predicament. First, we have failed to  understand our interdependency with the “natural” world. Human-induced climate  change has resulted in significant ecosystem shifts even in the most protected areas. In  Monteverde, for example, these climate shifts have altered cloud cover in the area,  lowering temperatures and allowing the spread of chytrid fungus. This fungus burrows into the skin of amphibians, making necessary processes of life extremely difficult. How have we built a world in which we ignore the harms created by our indirect actions such as  these?  

Second, as human beings, we have accelerated harmful environmental changes  through our choices that prioritize our extravagances and conveniences. The carbon that  leaks from society seeps in to harm ecological and environmental systems we could never  anticipate. It is customary to weigh our choices for progress as a species against the  impact of environmental change on other organisms. But choosing in this way ignores the  uncomfortable truth that these changes also impact our ability to survive. 

Finally, humans have shown little compulsion to act in the face of the gaslighting of  politicians, big business lobbies, and others who promote short-term gains from the  degradation of our environment. Our apathy may also be fed by the fact that our natural  world has previously demonstrated resilience to our exploitation. For instance, recently  species thought to be extinct have migrated to warmer and drier habitats in very different  areas of Costa Rica. Life would seem to have a resilience that is capable of surviving even  in the face of our selfish impulses. But for how long can we rely on this adaptive quality to  redeem our careless choices? The truth is we are causing rapid changes to the Earth’s  ecosystems that will leave many species behind. 

But if humans are the major reason for why we are where we are now, it is my hope  that humans, and especially Wake Forest students, can be part of the solution. The most  obvious place to start to combat apathy is through knowledge. Our classes and the  knowledge we gain help us see not only the urgency of the situation but also to recognize  our ability to fight against environmental degradation. 

Of course, knowledge in and of itself is not sufficient. A second way a Wake Forest  education can help us combat apathy is through firsthand experiences in the field.  Whether it be study-abroad trips like ones I have taken or will take to Saint Vincent and the  Grenadines, Cape Town, South Africa, Costa Rica, and the Lighthouse Reef in Belize, or  working with professors in research settings, we can gain insight into the ways in which  knowledge can be applied.  

Finally, a Wake Forest education can and should lead us to the moral imperative to  act. Sometimes science, in its quest for objectivity, forgets its duty to also act in ways that  better humanity. The Wake Forest motto of Pro Humanitate is not only an imperative for  those in the humanities but applies to science students as well. 

But the time to act is at hand and we continue to test the resilience of life and  Earth’s biodiversity. If my experience in Monteverde teaches us anything, it is that nature  has its limits. I know that the damage already done to these forests will be hard to undo.  However, my hope is that through knowledge, real-world application, and a moral  imperative to act, one evening I will return to that spot in the forest, turn off my headlamp,  and as I listen, I will be welcomed by the sounds of our success in protecting the natural  world: the music of the frogs. 

Building Community: Lessons Beyond the Classroom

by Charleston Kemper, 2025

Four years ago, I thought success was a solo journey—a path I could navigate with grit, hard work, and determination alone. But standing here today, I realize that the greatest milestones in life aren’t marked by what we achieve as individuals, but by the communities that shape us, challenge us, and carry us forward.

Growing up on a farm wasn’t just an experience—it was a way of life, a 24/7 commitment that shaped my values and work ethic. Every day brought tasks that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I mended fences, ensured the safety of animals, and cared for livestock, often in the early hours of the morning or late into the night. Witnessing progress and fostering trust became my purpose. I took immense pride in knowing their well-being rested on my shoulders. It was my responsibility, my job, and my success to claim. 

That same mindset followed me when I applied to Wake Forest. Getting in felt like an individual victory, one I could achieve independently, apart from my siblings. I thought my work ethic—so deeply tied to solitary accomplishments on the farm—would carry me through college. But I quickly realized how isolating that mindset could be.

When I arrived at Wake, I tried to approach academics the same way I approached the farm: focusing on my own success, measuring my worth through tangible outcomes. But that connection between effort and achievement felt distant. And without that immediate sense of purpose, I began to slack off. My independence—once my greatest strength—was starting to hold me back.

Things began to shift when I started working with others. Through group projects, campus organizations, and collaborative efforts, I rediscovered a sense of responsibility—not just to myself, but to my peers. I began to see that success wasn’t about what I could achieve alone; it was about what we could accomplish together.

This realization inspired me to pursue disciplines that center on connection and collaboration. As a Political Science major with minors in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Communications, I’ve learned that the greatest challenges—and the greatest rewards—come from collective effort. Political Science taught me about systems and structures and the ways communities can advocate for justice. WGS challenged me to think critically about how our identities are interconnected and how we can uplift one another. And Communications reminded me that our words have the power to unite people and inspire change.

One of the most meaningful moments in my academic journey came in a politics class that brought me out of the classroom and into the community. As part of a project, we worked with ESL (English as a Second Language) students at Northwest Middle School. Sitting with those students, hearing their stories, and helping them navigate academic challenges was transformative. It reminded me that education is not just about learning—it’s about connection, empathy, and empowering others to succeed.

These lessons extended beyond the classroom and into the Winston-Salem community. My WGS and Communications courses motivated me to engage with kids in Forsyth County schools. I helped shop for and donate items to the “Chic Shack,” a free thrift store for students, and facilitated marketing and awareness strategies for a school supplies drive. In collaboration with the Forsyth County school district and Wake Forest students, we organized a promotion where donations of three school supplies items granted free admission to the fair. I also had the honor of moderating a Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies symposium, where I learned from scholars who challenged me to think critically and engage deeply with issues of equity and justice. These experiences reminded me that collaboration isn’t just about working together—it’s about building something bigger than yourself.

The community I’ve built at Wake Forest has been transformative. It has shown me the value of shared effort, mutual support, and collective achievement. My academic journey shifted from proving myself to serving others. I found pride not in standing alone but in standing with and for others. Whether leading a group project or participating in campus organizations, I realized that the skills I honed on the farm—discipline, responsibility, and dedication—were not just useful for individual success, they were tools for building stronger communities.

As I reflect on my time at Wake Forest, I am grateful for the lessons I’ve learned—both in and out of the classroom. Wake has shown me that success is not just about tangible accomplishments or individual victories. It’s about the people we impact, the connections we make, and the ways we contribute to something larger than ourselves.

So, as we prepare to leave this incredible place, I encourage all of us to reflect on how we’ve grown—not just as individuals, but as members of this community. Because whether we’re caring of animals on a farm or working toward social change in a city, our greatest successes will always be those we share.

We Are Not Yet Made

by Stephanie Lu, 2025

When I first heard about the foreign language requirement, I was elated I only need to take one more Spanish class to fulfill it. No more conjugations or futi attempts at rolling my r’s, I thought gleefully. However, the universe had another plan in mind. Freshman year, I read Fresh Fruit, Broken Bodies in my cultural anthropology class. It described the occupational health risks of migrant farm workers through the eyes of a doctor and anthropologist. It outlined the shocking effects of structural inequality on the bodies of farm laborers who faced not just chronic injury but also racism, poor living conditions, and language barriers, and who also happened to pick many of the berries I sometimes ate. I was humbled by the way the author, as a physician, could see both the pathology of illness and the personal story behind the patient, humanizing an oftentimes demonized demographic. Slowly, I began to understand that you couldn’t seek to improve the health of individuals without the support of a healthy, more equal society. 

It follows that a good way to make healthcare more accessible is being able to speak the language of your patients, so I took Medical Spanish. Not only did we learn how to craft public health initiatives but also practiced using Spanish in the real world, which was one of my first experiences with real patients. The community health perspective was a fascinating one, and the importance of the government in people’s health was undeniable. 

The British doctor Tudor Hart described how the availability of care tends to vary inversely with the need for it in the population served. Those with the greatest need have the least access to treatment and preventive interventions. The more I learned about healthcare, the more true this description rang. Naively, I’d thought that nothing could go wrong in a field where people’s purpose was to help others. Spri semester, I experienced burnout for the first time, and the pandemic shone a spotlig on the burnout experienced by many health workers. My sophomore self was struck by a terrible kind of irony when I realized that the field I’d chosen, for the reasons I chosen it, wasn’t what it described itself to be. It was just as vulnerable to greed, corruption, and indifference as other fields. It was like a wind blew through my ro while I was sleeping, lifting hopes and dreams away. 

Bolstered by what I’d learned in class, I joined the nonprofit Take the Fight  Cancer. An experience I’ll never forget is listening to a patient speak about their struggles with expenses and supporting their family as we sat in the waiting room. It was staggering how much they had to deal with on top of their diagnosis. At first, felt like I’d nothing to offer them. Yeah, as part of our training, we’d been educated about what programs were available to them, but that would all be provided later. So, I just listened. The wait for the appointment was long, so we talked about their hobbies and all the places life had brought them. Afterwards, I emailed them with financial resources and followed up on the phone. It was funny because knowi about financial aid was step one, but emotional intelligence actually carried t interaction. I realized that the soul of medicine wasn’t just in the exercise of the intellect, but also in the engagement of your humanity. Yes, it was critical to know what labs to order, how to read a CT scan and form a treatment plan. But you also had to learn how to be there for someone. Through shadowing, I saw that patients listened to and trusted most the providers who showed them empathy and made sure their patients understood their health situation. 

We learned a similar thing in health psychology. The likelihood of whether or not someone would change their behavior to be more healthy wasn’t just based in cold, hard facts, but also in people’s values, motivations, and beliefs. The more I saw medicine through the lens of the humanities, the less despair I felt about the inequalities present in the healthcare system. This was the way forward, I thought. 

Then, one chilly Wednesday morning, I opened the door to my first experien with death. It was anatomy lab, and three cadavers lay silently on cold metal tables.

The air was heavy with apprehension, and that innately human aversion to death stilled my heart. As we put on our blue nitrile gloves, an impasse appeared on the horizon. I realized that this was a situation in which emotional detachment was necessary, even professional, so that we could trespass the cultural values around the deceased in order to complete our anatomical studies. Dehumanization at an individual level could be necessary in future work situations, especially since some medical procedures are invasive. If things were too personal, it would be difficult  think analytically, like in emergency situations. It was a careful act of balancing empathy and reason, human connection and healthy boundaries. Sometimes, it required a sense of distance to move forward. It was easy to fall into the trap of compassion fatigue, and it could be hard to come back from that sense of removal. Again and again, I understood that it took effort to keep your humanity and to see the humanity in others. 

To be human is to know that you can always be unmade. Your strengths turned to weaknesses, your weaknesses to strengths, and the axis of your entire world can shift. All I’ve learned in seventeen years of education is that nothing stands still. But as people, we don’t either, and that’s the beauty in it – to know that when you wake up every morning, you restart the clock. You learn things you never had any inkling of and master challenges you never thought you could overcome. You retain the earnestness of your younger selves and the iron strength of your struggles. You are always just beginning.

Audacious Dreams

by Heavyn McDaniels, 2025

On April 27th, 2021, multiple screams could be heard throughout my house. I stood in the middle of my kitchen, sobbing. I had just gotten the best email I have ever received. Days before college decisions were due, Wake Forest offered me a full scholarship to their University. I could not believe it. My mom, dad, and brothers were screaming and hugging, all reading the financial aid and scholarship letter repeatedly. I was in such disbelief that I even called the school the following day to make sure my eyes were working correctly, and this was, in fact, a genuine offer. My biggest dream had come true. On August 18th of this same year (freshman move-in day), I was found in a very similar position, except this time, I was sobbing in the middle of my brand new dorm room in Johnson *pre-renovation.* My tears didn’t stop there; in fact, they continued straight through the next two weeks of school. Realizing that the majority of my peers had a different background than I did was a culture shock I wasn’t mentally prepared for. I was mixed-race, a first-generation student and American, went to public school, and was from more humble beginnings than most of my peers. Besides this, I also had big aspirations to impact my community and advocate for women and minorities. I had absolutely zero idea how I was ever going to do that when it seemed I could barely keep myself afloat in my new environment. 

 I started working in the Women’s Center my freshman year and am still a proud employee. The center was my first safe space on campus, and that space slowly expanded to include the LGBTQ+ and intercultural centers. I could be myself fully in these spaces, and it was fulfilling to help cultivate a space where others could do the same despite any differences. During my sophomore year, Shelly Sizemore offered me a position to help organize Deacon Doulas, a volunteer doula organization. As a pre-med student, I jumped at the opportunity.

Deacon Doulas was Abby Peoples and Callie White’s dream to provide resources to create safer and happier birthing experiences in Forsyth County. The lack of accessibility to care caused by barriers like language and affordability is, unfortunately, something experienced firsthand by my family and I. This perspective helped me thrive in the role as I understood the needs of patients and volunteers alike. I assumed growing up different from my peers was my greatest weakness, but it turned out to be my greatest strength and allowed my dreams of impacting my community to come to fruition. 

 During the winter break of my junior year, my family and I visited El Salvador. With various family members who had contracted Dengue and COVID-19, I had some working knowledge of the local healthcare systems, or lack thereof, in the countryside where my grandparents were from. However, as my mom and I were sitting in the back of a pick-up on this trip, she pointed to a cute house on the mountainside. She exclaimed how she was born there, this was information I was NOT familiar with. This revelation piqued my interest in what women’s health looked like in El Salvador, and I found that they had one of the highest rates of cervical cancer in Central America. I knew I had wanted to do a Richter, an abroad research scholarship offered here, and until that moment, I was struggling to find a topic.

As a health and exercise science major, I have learned a lot about the social determinants of health, and I wanted to get to the root of this problem. I knew just looking at the raw research numbers wouldn’t answer my question and the only people who could help me answer it would be the women and doctors in El Salvador themselves. I went to Dr. Irby, my epidemiology professor at the time, with thoughts of a research concept and a dream. With Dr. Irby’s guidance (a lot of it; she was spectacular), she taught me everything I needed to know to submit my application. After being awarded the Richter, I spent last summer in El Salvador. The purpose was to better understand the barriers women in rural and urban parts of El Salvador face in receiving adequate education and healthcare. I wanted to learn how these systems intertwine in these women’s lives, hopefully revealing an answer to the high cervical cancer rates. While I am thankful to have learned so much about how the systems operate in El Salvador, I am eternally grateful for the women I interviewed.

The strength to be vulnerable and share their experiences, hardships, dreams, and desires with me took a lot of courage. I learned how hard some of them fought to be heard and cared for in the medical system. They recounted stories of being discouraged from seeking education at all and described abuse and assault that was a result of a culture rooted in machismo. Our conversations made me realize the necessity of uplifting these women’s voices. Because these women’s voices sounded eerily similar to the voices heard from pregnant patients of color in Forsyth County. Their concerns matched those of the woman who explained to her doctor how she couldn’t afford her breast cancer treatments while I was shadowing at Atrium Health Wake Forest Baptist. Their cries were the exact pitch of the ones I heard in the Women’s Center in November as students began to fear for their rights as a President was elected who has repeatedly proven that he has no desire to protect marginalized communities. These experiences reminded me of the words of Audre Lord, “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.” 

 I dream of a society where patients, no matter their background, are educated on how their bodies work and are empowered to take control of their health without the looming fear of being unable to afford it. Coming into Wake Forest, I knew I was ultimately working toward a white coat. Still, as I’m leaving, I’ve realized that my greater calling is to pursue this dream of using medicine and education to overcome the barriers and obstacles that minorities face in receiving care. Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what the next step is, but Wake Forest has taught me to embrace the unknown with open arms (after a few tears, of course). Through these last four years, Wake Forest’s faculty, professors, and community have made dreams come true that I never thought someone like me even had the right to dream of. I would like to thank my university for seeing something in me that I could not see back in 2021, and for giving me the opportunities and support systems to turn me into a student with the confidence and audacity to chase this dream.

The Gift of Shoulders

by Lillian Sutton, 2025

My skin was sticky with sweat as I tried to sneak quietly into the entryway. As many Wake Forest freshmen do, I had made the mistake of trusting my journey from Babcock Hall to Apple Maps, which inevitably led me to the opposite end of campus from where I needed to be. This was how I found myself, out of breath, after walking up the notorious hill toward Porter Byrum. I tried to make myself as invisible as possible as I entered late to an Orientation welcome reception. I cringed inwardly as I made eye contact with the professor who would teach my First Year Seminar as he addressed me and the students surrounding me- I hate being late. As the panic of my tardiness faded and my skin cooled, though, I could take in what he was saying. 

At some point in all of this, someone had passed me a slip of paper- a copy of a poem that my professor read to us at the end of his introduction. That same piece of paper, with a few extra folds now, sits at home, glued into my scrapbook. The poem is by Naomi Shihab Nye and is titled Shoulders. I will read it to you now. 

A man crosses the street in the rain 

stepping gently, looking two times north and south, 

because his son is asleep on his shoulder. 

No car must splash him. 

No car drives too near to his shadow. 

This man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo

but he’s not marked. 

Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE, 

HANDLE WITH CARE. 

His ear fills up with breathing. 

He hears the hum of a boy’s dream 

deep inside him. 

We’re not going to be able 

to live in this world 

if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing 

with one another. 

The road will only be wide. 

The rain will never stop falling. 

At the time of its reading, I found the poem beautiful, but it was not until later that I really felt its meaning. Although I live only 20 minutes away from campus, I found Wake Forest to be a completely different world. I looked around at others and expected to find my place as easily as they seemed to, and wondered what fault existed in me that I hadn’t. I had expected to fall immediately into having a sense of belonging here. Instead, I faced a quietly nagging voice saying that I didn’t. I resented this feeling of rootlessness, and resented even more my perceived inability to adjust.

It was only in the voicing of these feelings that I found freedom from them. I shared this unshakable feeling of being unmoored with the same professor who had read Nye’s words to me a few months prior. With unfailing compassion and warmth, he melted away my notion of personal inadequacy and instead encouraged me to embrace, sit with, and grow from this experience. In him I found an outstretched hand, a set of shoulders as the rain fell. This has been a theme of my (almost) four years here. Time and again, I find myself bolstered by individuals who have sat with me, willing to hold in their hands what had been heavy in mine. I have been carried to this point by a multitude of shoulders, strengthened with their grace and earnest compassion. Even when I most believed that I was lost, I was never truly unmoored here. Rather, I just needed to be reminded of the many ways that I am being carried. 

Although it doesn’t seem long ago that I was that nervous freshman, it is hard to imagine now feeling rootless in this place. Reflecting as a senior who, like many of us, is now arguably over-involved on campus, Wake Forest has made an indelible stamp on my heart. While all my semesters here have borne the mark of the shoulders of others, I have had the honor and privilege to serve as a set of shoulders myself. I have been a mentor and leader in various groups on campus, whether it be in a religious organization, a social sorority, or the orchestra. Working intentionally to cultivate community and belonging is when and where I feel most myself. In my time serving as a Deacon Doula, I am able to advocate for and empower women as they bring their children into the world. In my friendships, too, I hope I have been a reserve of strength for them in the same way they have been for me. To recognize my own capacity to be a set of shoulders is arguably the greatest gift this place has given me. 

This is the enduring spirit of Wake Forest, and is my own reigning definition of Pro Humanitate. To be a set of shoulders is the greatest gift, and also an inherent calling of our

humanity. The road will continue to be wide, and the rain will continue to fall. And we, the we of this campus, the we of this world, will have the sacred opportunity to continue to carry one another. That is what I have learned from this place- I am both the sleeping boy and the man crossing the street in the rain. We all are. Wake Forest has become home for me, and I have done my best to make it a home for others. It is at once a joyful and bittersweet feeling to know that I have made such a place for myself here. I am so lucky to have loved this place, and to have been loved back by it. In this next chapter, I can only hope that I will continue to carry others well, and allow myself to be carried.