This week has been one of the happiest on campus, that stretch before Halloween when everything feels alive. Everyone's talking about who they're going as, what plans they have, and for the first time this semester, there is this calm sense of relief in the air. The first wave of midterms is finally over and you can evidently see it on everyone's faces.
Outside of classes, every Tuesday I lead sessions for the Emerging Leaders Program, a student leadership workshop built around expression and teamwork. We facilitate students through reflection-driven activities that help them understand what leadership looks like in practice. In last Tuesday's session, one student said something that caught me off guard. We were discussing goals and aspirations when she said, "Expect disappointment, and you can never really be disappointed." At first I laughed. I was pretty sure that line was straight out of a Spider-Man movie. But then it stuck. That statement lives somewhere between skepticism and wisdom, kinda like a paradox between knowing and not knowing. And that, I think, is what ambiguity really is: the space between what we plan for and what actually unfolds.
Ever since midterm season ended, academics have taken a serious back seat in my life. My days have been filled with projects, student organizations and everything else that has been waiting for attention. Even all my professors seem to have called some sort of unspoken truce, slowing down the coursework rigor heavily. It's like one part of my life finally slowed down while another hit full speed. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but you get the sense that you're waiting for something to click back into place.
Nothing feels more ambiguous right now than the world of quantum computing. I read about Michel Devoret this week, one of this year's Nobel Laureates in Physics. About two weeks ago in "Uncertainty", I wrote about how this year's Nobel winners in the world of science were coincientally all being honored for research done decades ago. Devoret was no different, earning his Nobel Prize for work he began in the 1980s that laid the foundation for the chips powering our phones and fiber networks. Now, four decades later, he's back in the spotlight, this time with Google's quantum lab. Their team recently announced that they ran a new algorithm capable of processing information 13,000 times faster than one of the world's top supercomputers. It's still experimental and filled with errors, but it's definitely real progress. It's funny how a technology literally built with the basis of uncertainty has somehow become the key to solving the hardest, most complex problems we have. Quantum Computing as a whole thrives in the in-between, where something can be both a 1 and a 0 at once, unlike standard computers. It does not wait for certainty before acting. Maybe we do too, without even realising it.
Ambiguity isn't indecision, it's coexistence. This week, I've been living inside that very ambiguity, balancing academics that feel paused with everything else that somehow feels urgent now that tangible deadlines aren't hounding me. In a world feining for precision, maybe the best thing we can do is stay curious, stay unexpected, stay unique. To trust the process, even when things feel uncertain, and believe that it's all slowly coming together into something meaningful. Last month, I talked about the tightrope steadying, and learning how to dance on it. I think I've finally figured it out. It's about continuing to walk even when you cannot see the rope at all, learning to trust your balance more than the rope itself. (And no, I DO NOT mean that literally. Please don't try walking a tightrope blindfolded now.) Next week's blog will be written from Chicago, a big change in scenery. If ambiguity had a flavor, I'm guessing it'd taste a lot like deep dish. Messy, layered and ridiculously filling. Not a bad way to end the week. Ciao!