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Before arriving at Harvard, I received one warning repeatedly and almost unanimously from upperclassmen and peers alike: Don’t get quadded.

The term refers to being assigned to one of Harvard’s three Quad Houses. Between the 15-20 minute walks to campus and the perception of forced isolation woven into the Quad experience, Cabot, Currier, and Pforzheimer House sounded like exile.

Ironically, all of that changed when I woke up on Housing Day to a storm of upperclassmen from Cabot House. With no other option but to accept this assignment, I was determined to seek out some silver linings.

After having lived the “quad life” for almost a month now, I am confident I have found them — and more than that, I’ve come to appreciate how the Quad experience has taught me valuable lessons that extend beyond residence halls.

Though most Harvard students typically sport a fully booked Google Calendar from dawn to dusk, living in the Quad introduces a new element to the mix: extended commute times. Accounting for this longer commute makes the prospect of spontaneity slimmer than it once was.

Distance, though inconvenient, has brought an unexpected benefit. While the walk has occasionally made me 10 minutes late to my 9 a.m. section, it has also given me the perfect time to call my family and stay connected with those from home. Being far from my home base has made me increasingly more intentional with my time, a skill that would serve our community well, where distraction and burnout are too common.

As a freshman, the dining hall was a built-in social hub. When the clock struck 11:45 a.m., I knew that I could waltz into Annenberg Hall and find at least a few of my friends ready to share a meal. The fact that every freshman would be eating their meals in the same space made it easy to consistently run into friends I wouldn’t typically encounter on a daily basis.

Soon after assimilating into Quad House life, it became obvious that this convenience would fade. Running into people I recognized became a luxury often attributed to sheer luck. While this reality may seem frighteningly lonely, it paves a path of intention, forcing you to be deliberate about your friendships and commitments.

In my own life, I’ve made use of being quadded to actively seek out meaningful interactions with peers. For instance, since I rarely return to my House for lunch, I use that opening to reach out to various friends and plan uninterrupted times to catch up. These plans not only create moments of relief during overwhelming weeks, but also strengthen friendships in a way that casual run-ins never did.

Furthermore, putting greater thought and effort into how time is spent with others has made social interactions feel more grounded. With clear and purposeful intention behind plans, it becomes easier to stay present, rather than juggling endless tasks and distractions that often compete for attention.

In this way, the sense of intentionality I developed through Quad life has spread beyond relationships with others. In academics, for instance, being more selective and purposeful with course choices has allowed me to engage more deeply with the subjects I care about. Similarly, instead of joining every club that piqued my interest during the activities fair, I chose to commit fully to the ones that genuinely resonated with my goals and values.

Indeed, treating time as a valuable resource when it comes to relationships, clubs, and schoolwork can foster a productive and rewarding lifestyle.

At a school where pressure to excel is ever-present, intentionality helps stave off burnout by ensuring that your energy is directed towards what genuinely enriches your life. It encourages a productive and rewarding lifestyle, rather than a frantic race to check off endless to-dos.

Quadded or not, don’t wait for proximity to define your relationships. Reach out to the people who make you feel good and watch as your days become more fulfilling. Make the effort and take the time to be truly intentional about how you spend your precious moments at this school.

Chloe I. Goldberg ’28, a Crimson Editorial editor, lives in Cabot House.