Over four years ago, when I submitted my application to our beloved Stanford University, I wrote about how excited I was to have a piece of home on campus in the form of Lake Lagunita. Born and raised in Michigan, I grew up jumping in lakes, tubing across them, driving to lakes so large that the sight of the opposite shoreline disappeared completely. To my simple mind, a place on campus referred to as Lake Lag must have water in it, because it’s a lake … Right? Alas, this was not the case in 2020, when Lake Lag was a dry field on West Campus. I can’t help but chuckle when imagining my admissions officer reading a love letter to a body of water that did not then exist.

There were many other things that did not exist in 2020: students on campus, in-person classes, times that were precedented, and certainty in the world. No matter where you were, we were all, metaphorically, thinking about a lake that didn’t exist. Yet.

And then home suddenly became late nights in the Stacks of Green, the McMurtry rooftop, CoHo on a Tuesday afternoon while looking for a spot with an outlet, a lovely view from an EVGR double. Home is cheekily realizing that your professor is much shorter in person than on Zoom. Home is appreciating the community found in a Club Cardinal virtual campus game. Home is a stolen bike, a Slack channel, sunny days working at the Law School terrace, starry nights running off to the gym or the PRL, to lab or to acapella practice, to whatever it is that I know you are so passionate about. That thing that asks so much of you, just like Stanford, but when push comes to shove, it lights a fire in your heart.

There may have been times where it was difficult for you to believe that you could succeed at Stanford, but you did. It was difficult to believe that the lake would one day be full, but it was. Home is a raft on the water after a failed exam, a bad breakup, or a rejected application. Home is the people that go out on the water with you.

I do not know when the lake will be full with water next, and your guess is as good as mine. Remember when we did not know, as a frosh, when we would finally step foot on campus? Remember the moments at Stanford when we did not know who our friends were, what we wanted to study, or where we were going to find the time to finish all our assignments? As we enter new forms of uncertainty, there will be new things we do not know. We have been prepared though, to make change and to dare. To forge our homes in the world, to build community and to be kind.

Class of 2024, go out into our uncertain world and write passionately about your Lake Lag. Your lake that does not exist. Yet. Dream big, then dream bigger, and then dream as big as you did when you first opened your acceptance letter. And never forget all the homes that you came from.

Congratulations!