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My Housing Day dorm storm — a time when enthusiastic upperclassmen charge through the rooms of eager freshmen to reveal their Harvard home for the next three years — was like any other. Shortly after 8:00 am, hearing screaming upperclassmen in the yard, my friends and I filmed our predictions: “Leverett!” “Dunster!” “Eliot!” (my personal guess was Winthrop).

Finally, one of my friends forcefully said “Cabot!”

The rest of us turned in shock. The Quad!? None of us had even considered that possibility. Nevertheless, we refocused.

Soon after, the real moment was upon us. Filmed by a phone taped to the wall, my blocking group anxiously waited as we heard upperclassmen stomp up the stairs and bang on our door.

We opened it up, and all I saw was the word “Cabot” written on red and yellow signs.

The moment had come, and this time it was for real. We were quadded — relegated to housing an extra ten minute walk to Harvard Yard than the houses near the Charles River. Thus commenced the five stages of Quad grief.

Denial

Did this actually happen? How is it possible that I’m part of the roughly 25 percent of unlucky students who get quadded?

I was aware that peers frequently trick freshmen into believing they were quadded with false chants before revealing their actual house. This only fueled my delusion.

When is the big reveal coming? I wondered.

It didn’t come when they opened the door, so it must come when they enter the room. It didn’t come when they entered the room, so it must come when we all go downstairs. It must come when we all go outside. And so on. That moment never came.

Anger

As my blocking group stood outside, holding a Cabot sign for a quick picture, I entered the anger stage. We had a clear view of the other freshmen, recently placed into more enviable houses, celebrating with their friends. My friends and I, of course, had each other, but with barely any other freshman assigned to Cabot around us, it was an isolating and frustrating experience.

In that moment, the two hours of sleep, the desperation for food, and the exhaustion of River Run suddenly hit me.

And to top it all off — it was raining!

A Quick Return of Denial

My friends and I ventured to Annenberg for the “celebratory” lunch where everyone eats with their house. Even as we sat and ate, I thought to myself: I didn’t actually see the official housing letter with my own eyes. Maybe there was some sort of administrative snafu and the official letter will reveal deliverance into a different house.

When my friend informed me that she had seen and read it, I considered the possibility that it had been misdelivered. Or misprinted. Anything. There had to be some sort of mistake.

Bargaining

In Smith Campus Center, my friends and I, in between bursts of productivity, discussed potential ways to alleviate the pain and disappointment, like getting a scooter or bike. We discussed the shuttle system, and someone even brought up ways to transfer houses.

Depression

I mostly skipped this phase. The worst of it was over. I’m at Harvard, after all, where I’m guaranteed to live with my best friends for the next three years.

Acceptance

When I ventured to Cabot for the traditional dinner as rising members of the house, I (with my blockmates) breathed a sigh of relief. The Quad was beautiful. It was like I had suddenly unlocked a new, secluded location on the campus map. We were excited to see our other friends there and meet the house staff. We got to see an example of a large Cabot suite and socialize with upperclassmen. It was no longer raining — and the walk wasn’t that bad!

As I reflected upon my Housing Day experience over Spring Break, I realized that my disappointment wasn’t actually disappointment — it was shock. I had not considered Cabot as an option since I had never been there nor seen it in person. It was a novel idea.

I would actually add a sixth stage to my Housing Day journey: excitement. My friends and I started planning how we would decorate our rooms — which, luckily for quadlings, will be massive — and I connected with other friends who were quadded.

There I was, sitting in Cabot House, and the world hadn’t ended after all.

My sadness was based almost entirely upon the fact that Cabot is considered a “bad” house, mainly by freshmen who had never stepped foot in the Quad. While I grieved losing the idea of living near the river, I hadn’t yet realized that there was so much to gain. In fact, many students end up loving the Quad.

Still, even as students in river houses face disruptive renovations and the greater possibility of living in a double sophomore year, quadded students are pitied, perhaps a result of a need for hierarchies — clear winners and losers in student perception. But in no real-world situation would an extra five minutes in a commute render a living space’s merits wholly irrelevant when there are admittedly very few downsides.

The Housing Day discourse surrounding the Quad needlessly inhibits many students’ ability to celebrate their introduction into their new communities. It’s silly to pity one another for random assignments to living spaces (that are objectively an upgrade from freshman housing). I admit I contributed to this discourse on Housing Day, but I have since come to regret it.

There was never any reason to grieve. After all, what’s more exclusive than something only about a quarter of Harvard students get to do?

I’ve decided that makes me a winner.

Catherine E.F. Previn ’27, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Thayer Hall.