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I have a confession to make: I don’t really mind getting quadded.

All throughout my first year, I had been told by upperclassmen that the Quad was too far, and — not much else, actually. In fact, most people are complimentary about the Quad and its housing or community, before discrediting all those positive attributes with a simple “it’s too far.”

First of all, to put the distance into perspective, the walk from Cabot House to the Science Center is 14 minutes on Google Maps. The walk from beloved Dunster House? 12. From Winthrop House? 11. Of course, it is true that the walk from the river houses goes through important student locations like the Smith Campus Center, but the time it takes to get to the Yard and its major academic buildings is essentially the same (not to mention that most of the time, students in the Quad will be able to take a shuttle instead).

Let’s also put “the walk” into perspective. In no other context would a 15-minute walk be a burden so unmanageable that it single-handedly disqualifies the merits of a college dorm. In so many other institutions and in everyday life, this kind of a walk (once again, supplemented by a direct shuttle service) would be considered rather reasonable; it is only in the context of some even closer dorms that the Quad looks so distant.

Moreover, the “isolation” that many cite as the primary drawback of the Quad is actually one of its greatest attributes. The ability to go home, to physically leave a school, is one of the healthiest aspects of Quad life. Being able to escape the Harvard bubble is an underrated ability that one often forgets while living in the Yard. As a first-year in Thayer Hall, I wake up every morning to a view of the Science Center out my window and Sever Hall out the other. From the moment I leave my dorm, I am confronted by reminders of work and academics no matter where I go; it is as if the Yard is a cauldron of stress and pressure that is stirred incessantly until my work and personal lives blend together into one indistinguishable mess.

The school-home separation is subtle, but powerful — it is part of the reason why many of us look forward to going home during breaks, because we wish to forget about the things that worry us and literally escape to a location we do not associate with school. In the absence of our actual homes, the Quad (and its surrounding suburban landscape) serves as an excellent reminder that there’s more to Harvard than Lamont Library’s imposing shadow.

All of this is why, when looking back at Housing Day, I regret not showing as much enthusiasm when dorm stormers rushed into our room early in the morning. I want to tell the enthusiastic upperclassmen (who tried their best to cheer us up) that the eight frozen, disappointed students weakly smiling at them were simply playing their part in the often toxic narrative that surrounds housing at Harvard.

I was particularly struck that day by the contrast between the celebrations of students who got Lowell or Adams Houses and the Cabot upperclassmen reassuring crying or worried freshmen in the hallways, still in their face paint and holding signs declaring a now-ironic message of house pride. Housing Day is not a lottery that one wins or loses; it should be a celebration of passage and growth. Students should not feel compelled to apologize for where they live, and it is sad that House pride for some comes with such an asterisk.

The Quad has an amazing community, its housing is better than most, and it has its own collection of interesting restaurants, cafes, and stores for residents. As soon-to-be Pfoho residents, just this spring my blockmates and I can go horseback riding, sailing, kayaking, watch the Game of Thrones upcoming season premiere outdoors, and attend excursions into Boston led by our House tutors (among more events).

Perhaps it’s the distance that makes it so, but in these short weeks we’ve encountered a strong, vibrant, and welcoming Quad community that any House would envy. So the next time I tell you I’ll be in the Quad next year, please save your grimaces and half-hearted apologies — for me, there’s nothing to pity about sacrificing a few extra minutes of walking for superior housing and a community I would trade for none other.

Andrew S. Ham ’22, an inactive Crimson editorial editor, lives in Thayer Hall.