At 5 a.m., the sky begins to turn that pale shade of gray that heralds the rising sun. The birds begin to chirp. Inside, you feel the giddy lightness that springs from a mix of fatigue, anxiety and satisfaction—fatigue from lack of sleep; anxiety about the work you have not done and will not get to do; satisfaction at having made it through the night. You are happy but horrified to be awake.

My best experiences at Harvard have happened around five o’clock in the morning.

This was the hour during Freshman Week when I leaned back in my desk chair and stared out my common room window to collect my thoughts. From the fourth floor of Canaday A, I took a moment to meditate on the illuminated Memorial Hall tower rising up majestically from behind the entryways across the courtyard. The scene provided an incredible backdrop for a moment of reflection. How did I get to live and study in a place like this? How many others had admired this very same view? What would the rest of college be like?

Over the next four years, 5 a.m. was when I debated the dogmas of different religions, confessed life dreams over diet Coke and Carly Simon, exchanged tales of family turmoil while doing laundry and watching Scent of a Woman—something about the intimacy of the hour made it easier to open up to my friends.

This January, 5 a.m. was the hour I stood and watched the The Crimson roll off the presses each morning during the last few weeks of my term as an editor. I happen to think it’s thrilling to watch any set of presses run—the way the paper flies through the machines, the gritty smell of oil and ink, the way your heart beats faster and faster to match the pounding of the presses—but watching the production of a paper into which you’ve poured your heart and soul fills one with a bittersweet combination of pride and nostalgia that is difficult to put into words.

The reason why I think these early-morning experiences were among my best at Harvard is that they were the times I made a conscious decision to do something I knew I probably shouldn’t, simply because I wanted to. Whether it was to spend a moment dwelling among my own thoughts, to push the boundaries of a friendship or to try to make a student newspaper the best it could be, being awake at 5 a.m. generally meant I had blown off work or sleep or some other equally important responsibility to pursue something I felt was more important.

The wonderful thing about Harvard is that it takes driven and talented people and forces them to discover what really matters to them. Though many of us balanced six extracurriculars and stellar grade-point averages in high school, at Harvard we learned that there wasn’t time for everything. We had to prioritize. And in so doing, we learned invaluable lessons about ourselves. What we Harvard undergraduates do at 5 a.m. tells us more about ourselves than our college applications ever did.

The 5 a.m. moment is what we should all be seeking out of life. Not literally—we’ve all probably pulled enough all-nighters over the last four years to have done irreparable damage to our health. Instead, we should be striving towards what the 5 a.m. moment represents: that instance when you realize you are giving it all for some pursuit—whether it be work, family, friends or personal reflection—that is higher than the mundane requirements of daily life.

The incredible high that comes from pushing yourself to the extreme for the things you love is what the “good life,” in my opinion, is all about.

On Commencement morning, I will have my final 5 a.m. moment at Harvard. I will wake, dress and drive to an International House of Pancakes about 10 minutes from school. I’ve done this every Commencement for the last three years—it’s a Crimson tradition to head over there after the Commencement paper has been printed.

This year, I should probably be sleeping or primping or whatever it is one does to prepare for a graduation ceremony, but instead I will be chomping on mediocre pancakes and eating less-than-savory bacon. But I will be surrounded by a group of people whom I trust and admire more than any other group of people I’ve ever met.

And I can think of no more fitting way to draw my Harvard career to a close.

Kate L. Rakoczy ’04, a social studies concentrator in Lowell House, was The Crimson’s associate managing editor in 2003.