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It was a bright, sunny morning — which should have been my first red flag, because nothing good ever happens in broad daylight. But there I was, on my way to class from Mather, acting like I had my life together. I was running on a solid six hours of sleep, my papers were turned in (on TIME, might I add), and I actually woke up on time for breakfast. Peak performance, honestly.

Everything was going as planned… until I caught a glimpse of him across the street.

Road Rat. The notorious 13-inch-long rat had finally made an appearance in my life.

He was right there, in the flesh. But I fear I was too late for this short-lived reunion.

Before me lay Road Rat, knocked out cold in the middle of Mass Ave. An unfortunate case of jaywalking, looking more lifeless than the people leaving the Stat 110 midterm.

I was no stranger to the tiny fella’s tales detailing his exploits — terrorizing freshman dorms at 3 a.m., outsmarting the most skilled rat traps, and allegedly joining the IOP.

But now, his cold, beady, red eyes stared directly into my soul. I could feel him judging me. Judging my choice to (almost) go into consulting. Judging my decision to be premed. Judging the fact that I was wearing the same sweatshirt from the day before. I was trapped in purgatory, and purgatory looked suspiciously like the intersection across from CVS.

I tried pulling myself together, but I just couldn’t look away. This right here was proof of what happens when you fly too close to the sun. When you reach for grandiose dreams — like attempting to sneak into meet your friends at Adams for lunch, or trying to take five pset classes in a semester, or believing you could do all three readings AND go to that concert Sunday night. Road Rat reached for the stars while trying to amass his mass, only to get absolutely *bodied* by some of the worst drivers in America.

I thought about Road Rat’s dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Did he have a family? Friends back in the Yard he was trying to impress? A hometown sewer far away that he longed to return to? Did he think he would ever make it to the big leagues in the big city rat race? So much potential, but such a shame it fell short.

It was like looking at a mirror image of myself and everyone I knew and loved. Road Rat was an omen, a cautionary tail (tale) of the pitfalls of ambition. A memento mori in rat form. A physical manifestation of my academic validation complex. He was like all of us — striving, scrambling, and ultimately getting flattened by forces beyond our control (capitalism, climate change, three midterms scheduled back-to-back). It’s expensive to fly so high. You burn out. You fry the machine.

The traffic light switched to “Walk.” I scurried away to Lamont, carrying with me Road Rat’s story as cautionary advice. Also, I was late to section.

Here’s a haiku in tribute:

Small king of Mass Ave

Your dreams too big for this world

RIP Road Rat

Moral of the story: Look both ways before crossing the street. Live with love and whimsy right now, because the Goldman Sachs offer can wait. Road Rat wouldn’t want that for you.