There is no such thing as “inside” ELAINE CLARKE 11 voices
4 features Old buildings, cobblestones, and construction graze the surface of Georgetown’s mobility barriers
CHIH - RONG KUO AND ALEXANDRA HAMILTON
6
e0itorials
The limits of activism in the digital space
THE EDITORIAL BOARD
7 features Screen-free socials: D.C. welcomes trend of phoneless parties
SEHR KHOSLA
8
ne2s
As AI rises, some Georgetown classes are disconnecting from technology, while others embrace it
IMANI LIBURD
breaking bad”
LI
10
halfti,e L eisure
An evening at an open mic night
JOAQUIN MARTINEZ
“When locked in Lau 5 for hours every day during the never-ending weeks of midterms, it’s hard to believe that there is an outside world at all, let alone that the library is part of it. So, beyond being outside while inside of Lauinger, how does one reconnect with humanity’s natural side?” PG 11
12 voices Going feral
COLBY KELLY
13
halfti,e sports
Beat perfectionism one drop serve at a time
STELLA LINN
14
halfti,e sports
The Touch Grass Challenge: Voice Sports tries to Play60
HALFTIME SPORTS
Editor-in-Chief — Eddy Binford-Ross
internal resources:
Exec. Manager for Staff —Samantha Monteiro
Exec. Editor for Resources, Diversity, and Inclusion — Imani Liburd
Asst. Editor for Resources, Diversity, and Inclusion —Elaine Clarke
Editor for Sexual Violence Advocacy, Prevention, and Coverage — Olivia Fanders
Social Chairs — Aubrey Butterfield, Phoebe Nash Archivist — Elle Marinello
Campbell, Mariela Cruz, Massimo D'Onofrio Elizabeth Foster, Katie Han, Rina Khoury, Belinda Li, Aidan Munroe, Rory Myers, Christina Pan, Mahika Sharma, Isabella Stratta, Alexis Tamm, Catalin Wong
Dear Voice readers,
I am thrilled to welcome you to the Voice’s “Connections” issue or, as we’ve a7ectionately nicknamed it, our “touch grass” issue.
Across nine stories, our writers and designers explore what it means to step outside, disconnect from technology, and reconnect with ourselves and each other. This theme was chosen by our board out of a desire to speak directly to the lives of Georgetown students. In a world increasingly shaped—and sometimes distorted—by technology, it felt especially important to reflect on the ways we find meaning and connection.
As media outlets churn out think pieces on how AI and technology are transforming the way college students live, learn, and relate to one another, we tried to approach these questions from the perspective of those being written about. In this “touch grass” issue, we aim to capture a snapshot of what it means to navigate digital spaces, interpersonal interaction, the outdoors, and human existence as young people.
Editing this issue has made me think more intentionally about how I connect with the world around me. As I was leading a hike for Outdoor Education this past Sunday, wandering through the forests of West Virginia, I found myself reflecting on Elaine Clarke’s opinion piece about the false dichotomy between “inside” and “outside.” My no-technology class with Father Mark Bosco embodies what Imani Liburd describes in her news story: more Georgetown professors are embracing handwritten notes. And at a concert this weekend, I put my camera away and experienced live music as it was presented, just as Joaquin Martinez encourages in her leisure article.
I hope these stories inspire you, as well, to reflect on how you interact with people, technology, and the world. I also hope that you live a little more fully in the present as a result.
As always, I welcome your thoughts on this issue, our coverage online, or anything going on around Georgetown’s campus. I’m just an email away: editor@georgetownvoice.com.
Until next time,
P.S. If you want to read any more of our “touch grass” content, more stories will be posted on georgetownvoice.com.
Agony Aunt's Advice Column
I’m feeling anxious that I haven’t found “my people” yet. Everyone around me is getting in these super-close friend groups (and honestly some people are being weirdly possessive of “their people” and “the dynamic”). I don’t want to a) jump into a group I don’t totally vibe with because I’m scared of not having one, b) force myself into a group that doesn’t want me, or c) be alone. What should I do?
— Fretting Freshman
Ohhh, buddy. This is a real pincher of a problem and you might not like the answer I’m going to give you, because it means you are going to have to be lonely, uncomfortable, and nervous sometimes (maybe a lot of the time). But hopefully you will also take heart when I tell you that the problem may not be as big as it probably
Read the rest of Agony Aunt's advice here:
BY CHIH - RONG KUO AND ALEXANDRA HAMILTON
Soren Anderson (SFS ’28) stood patiently at the exit from WhiteGravernor Hall after class. The door didn’t have an Americans with Disabilities Act push button, and Anderson, who had recently sprained his ankle, couldn’t open it from the inside while on crutches. Instead, he had to wait until another student came through, opening the door for him, before he could continue.
When Anderson sprained his ankle a few weeks after transferring to Georgetown, he didn’t think that mobility barriers would upend his life. However, since then, he’s found that even basic travel around campus is difficult.
“I have a 10-minute passing period to go from second-floor ICC [Intercultural Center] to fourth-floor Walsh, which is tough when I’m not on crutches, impossible when I am,” Anderson said.
With construction on Tondorf Road and Copley Lawn, students have become increasingly aware of the lack of accessible routes on campus. However, for students with mobility challenges, Georgetown’s physical inaccessibility extends far beyond recent construction, raising concerns around on-campus accommodations and the student body’s attitude toward people with disabilities.
Anderson’s story is just the tip of the iceberg regarding access on campus. His condition is temporary, but for some Georgetown students, these are issues they face daily.
Everyday barriers
Mobility restrictions are all over campus. Georgetown’s old infrastructure, construction blocking multiple pathways, and hilly terrain make navigating the Hilltop difficult, according to Natalie Gustin (SFS ’26), a physically disabled student who uses mobility aids most of the time and an academic assistant at the Disability Cultural Center (DCC).
Beyond obvious access issues like uneven paths, myriad other barriers exist, including bookshelves in Lauinger Library that aren’t far apart enough to accommodate a mobility wheelchair and constantly malfunctioning elevators, Gustin said.
“This campus was not built for disabled students,” Gustin said. “There’s still so much work that needs to be done in terms of physical accessibility.”
Other students agree with Gustin. Georgetown’s most recent Campus Climate Survey from 2020 revealed that only 12.4% of undergraduates agreed or strongly agreed that the Georgetown campus was physically accessible to students with disabilities or special needs.
Social, pre-professional, and academic challenges
Gustin said that campus’s inaccessibility affects her academic and club life. She misses out on instructional time from being late to class and often can’t attend cultural or club events.
Accessing the cultural affinity houses off campus is nearly impossible for students with mobility issues, according to Gustin. In Spring 2025, GUSA announced that it secured funding for ramps accessing the affinity houses, which can only be reached by climbing up a short flight of stairs. However, a university spokesperson wrote to the Voice that Planning and Facilities Management “found the existing ramps did not meet code requirements.” The university has offered to
reimburse GUSA for the ramps it purchased. Without ramps, Gustin said that disabled students of color cannot access valuable cultural resources.
Georgetown’s mobility barriers also impact physically disabled students’ social lives, said Paige Benish (SFS ’28), a physically disabled student who uses a wheelchair.
“You can’t really go to parties,” Benish said. “And if you do go to that party, you’re going to be stared at, you’re going to be talked to differently.”
The social implications of mobility barriers take a toll on disabled students, Benish told the Voice. Even something as everyday as a doorframe can determine if Benish and other physically disabled students are able to participate in a social event or club meeting, Benish said.
And, for Benish, constantly not being able to attend things and get places in a reasonable amount of time, or at all, is challenging.
“If you have to spend your day-to-day just exhausted and frustrated because everything doesn’t work—every door is broken, every elevator is broken—it’s tiring,” Benish said.
Administrative barriers
On top of impacting their social, preprofessional, and academic lives, physically disabled students told the Voice that it’s difficult to navigate administrative systems, especially as they try to access necessary accommodations through the Academic Resource Center and Residential Living.
Accommodation requests require proof for approval. To get the necessary documentation, Gustin had to miss a day of classes to travel to a doctor’s office. The financial and physical costs can limit accessibility for low-income students, Gustin said.
Benish faced a similar situation when they requested Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) accessible housing in Spring 2025.
“They want doctor’s notes to prove that you’re in a wheelchair,” Benish said.
“Can’t you just use your eyes? Talk about administrative burden.”
Benish spent several weeks waiting for their request to be approved.
Although they received a wheelchairaccessible housing unit, Benish cannot physically get into their dorm with a wheelchair because of the narrow hallway and the arrangement of furniture. Benish does not have to use their wheelchair daily, but when they do need to use it, they have to ask their friends to pick them up and move them into their room.
“Accommodations are not a luxury,” Benish said. “They’re something I need to function.”
Gustin also said that implementing more seamless accommodation systems could make Georgetown more accessible. Colleges across the country have also implemented disability justice-based accommodation systems that eliminate the stringent requirements to prove one’s disability. For example, SUNY Cortland makes accommodations decisions primarily based on students’ self-reports about their experiences.
Beyond campus
These problems extend beyond the Hilltop. The Georgetown neighborhood’s historic buildings, cobblestone streets, and staircases make it virtually impossible for students in wheelchairs to go off campus, effectively forcing them to stay within the “Georgetown bubble.”
Georgetown built accessible spaces throughout the Capitol Campus, according to the university’s website. However, students with disabilities said that travelling between the campuses can be prohibitively challenging.
Benish originally wanted to participate in the Capitol Applied Learning Labs program at the Capitol Campus. After frequently waiting one or two hours for a GUTS bus with a working lift, they decided to stay on the Hilltop.
A university spokesperson wrote to the Voice that Georgetown is committed to ensuring an accessible and inclusive campus.
“We have made significant progress expanding accessibility and it remains at the forefront of campus planning for facility improvements and construction,” the spokesperson wrote.
A self-fulfilling prophecy
Students with disabilities worry that the lack of mobility access is a
self-fulfilling system, according to Gustin. Because Georgetown lacks accessible infrastructure, disabled students may choose not to apply, she said. According to the 2020 Campus Climate Survey, only 4.3% of Georgetown undergraduates reported having a mobility or physical impairment, significantly lower than the national average of 12.2% reported by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Gustin said that since there are not many disabled students, few people speak out about accessibility needs, so access doesn’t improve quickly.
Benish agreed, contending that Georgetown’s mobility barriers may drive away potential students with disabilities. They recalled attending Georgetown Admissions Ambassador Program weekend, where prospective students come to visit campus before accepting their admissions offers.
During their weekend, Benish recalled going to take a tour. The guide in charge of the tour didn’t tell Benish what route they were taking, instead leaving them behind as they struggled to navigate around campus, Benish told the Voice.
Benish said that they were later informed that if they wanted an accessible tour, they had to request one ahead of time. Having that burden placed on them as a 17-year-old was frustrating, Benish said.
“How was I supposed to know? Or how was any incoming freshman, disabled or not, supposed to know that?” they said.
A lack of understanding drives some accessibility challenges
For Benish, the accessibility issues on campus are a manifestation of the lack of exposure to disabilities and disability culture. They said that university campuses and cities were not built with disabled people in mind, and now face the challenge of retroactively addressing their needs. The ADA, which prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities in employment, government services, public accommodations, and transportation, was passed only 25 years ago.
Because of this lack of exposure, many students do not know a person with disabilities and may not even fully understand what a disability is and how it impacts students’ lives. Benish said that the student body’s ignorance about disability culture has caused several challenges for them. Students have crawled over their wheelchair or occupied the disabled-reserved table in the ICC auditorium during class.
“The student body isn’t socialized and conditioned to be around people in wheelchairs because there’s so [few] disabled people on campus,” Benish said. “We don’t
have elevator etiquette on this campus. We don’t have personal space etiquette.”
Greater awareness of the disability community can make the campus more accessible, Gustin said. She said that improving accessibility on campus benefits the community as a whole. For example, building a ramp for wheelchairs also helps anyone pulling a cart up a building.
Building inclusive community
Despite accessibility limitations, there are resources available to students on campus. Moises Amador Robles (CAS ’27), a student assistant at the DCC, said the center fosters a more inclusive community through its programming and outreach.
Robles said that the DCC provides a crucial space for abled- and non-abled body students to interact and learn more about disability in a positive space.
“[DCC] events are made to be an intimate way of learning, but also engaging with the community as well,” Robles said.
Non-disabled students can struggle to relate to the difficulties that disabled students face. Anderson gained newfound empathy and community while navigating campus on crutches.
“I’ve got a new view on life. My heart has grown three sizes,” he said. “One thing about having crutches is suddenly you can talk to anyone else with crutches. It’s a bonding experience.”
However, even without firsthand experience, students can still empathize with and support disabled students, according to Gustin.
“Listen to disabled students and talk to them,” Gustin said. “What we really need is everyone to be on our side, everyone to be emailing administration, to be emailing facilities, and to be telling them, ’This is something I care about.’”
For Benish, caring for disabled friends means taking the road less traveled. They encourage students to walk on accessibility paths with disabled students instead of leaving them behind.
“So when [disabled] people are like, ’I have to go on this route,’ go with them. Don’t say you’ll meet them down there,” Benish said. “Think of all the missed conversations that the two of you have now not had because you’re so hell-bent on taking the path that you want to take.”5
Editor’s Note: Paige Benish is the spread editor for the Voice
The limits of activism in the digital space
BY THE EDITORIAL BOARD
BY KATIE REDDY
One of the greatest threats to meaningful activism today is the illusion that posting on social media is a substitute for taking action in the world. Online activism, in its current form, allows people to confuse momentary, low-effort engagement with genuine commitment.
At the center of this issue is a misalignment between one’s online posts and their actual conduct in the real world. How can one post furiously about the abuses of corporate power only to pursue work in companies whose practices violate those values? How can you declare solidarity with an oppressed community, yet refuse to show up physically or financially to support their organizing efforts? The hypocrisy is palpable when students condemn authoritarian surveillance tactics in class only to attend recruiting events or accept job offers from companies like Palantir, whose datamining contracts with government agencies contribute to expanding.
If your online posts do not accurately reflect your actions and behaviors in real life, your activism becomes nothing more than a performance. Choosing to show support for movements through a graphic, repost, or profile picture requires minimal effort.
In today’s political landscape, not everyone may be able to risk their safety and take to the streets to support a cause publicly. It’s especially essential to remain vigilant about safety as Immigration and Customs Enforcement knocks on front doors. However, “showing up” isn’t limited to going to a protest. Educating family and friends, boycotting companies, writing letters, or calling representatives are all meaningful forms of activism. Reposting content should be a supplement to these activities, not a replacement for them.
Social media platforms themselves magnify this performative tendency. Algorithms are designed to maximize user engagement and profit, showing us content and information that confirms our existing beliefs. This system traps individuals in “echo chambers,” limiting their exposure to opposing or even slightly different viewpoints. This division of the public poses a direct threat to the broad, unified front needed for successful democratic organizing.
The rise of a digital oligarchy has consolidated our information ecosystem in the hands of a few powerful tech companies. At the inauguration of President Donald
Trump in January, leading tech executives, including Tesla CEO Elon Musk, Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg, and Google CEO Sundar Pichai, were given priority seating ahead of incoming cabinet members. This arrangement underscored the close relationship these billionaires have with the Trump administration. Each of these executives can censor or deplatform entire online movements, effectively shutting down digital activism instantly.
An added danger to the overreliance on digital activism is President Trump’s longstanding characterization of the traditional press as the “enemy of the American people.” His statements mirror the language used by 20th-century dictators, such as Stalin, Mao, and Hitler, to delegitimize critical journalism and sow public distrust. These rhetorical attacks are reinforced by material action aimed at infringing on First Amendment rights, such as Trump’s lawsuit against CBS’s 60 Minutes. This attack on freedom of speech through real-world, non-digital avenues, such as courtrooms and regulations, further demonstrates that the Trump administration is willing to go to extreme lengths to suppress counter-narratives and dissenting speech. This willingness poses risks to the public’s ability to access objective reality online, making citizens more vulnerable to disinformation.
As global trends deepen a wave of autocratization, the authoritarian co-option of technology is no longer theoretical. Nobel Laureate Maria Ressa, a Filipino journalist, warned that social media has created an environment that allows for surveillance. These digital tools make it easier for authoritarian regimes to identify and punish dissidents. This is especially pertinent as a recent memorandum signed by Trump aims to label broad terms such as “anti-capitalist” and “anti-fascist” as terrorism. Ressa advised that as regimes wield digital tools, it is essential to understand that “you can’t do this alone.”
True resistance requires moving beyond the screen to confront power with your presence, your wallet, and your speech. Meaningful activism takes many forms. Inperson events create shared spaces and mobilize financial support. There are examples on our campus from just this semester. The Worker Solidarity Concert hosted by the Georgetown Coalition for Workers’ Rights brought together campus and community
artists in support of Georgetown University Transportation Shuttle drivers who face cuts from Georgetown’s administration. A Georgetown student’s recent fundraiser in support of the Migrant Solidarity Mutual Aid Hotline raised $2,600 to support grocery runs for migrants in D.C., exhibiting the impact one person’s idea and work can have on their community.
While we have technology that can contribute to change, our organizing efforts will never be successful if they are kept online. To be an effective advocate, you must know who you are and live a life that reflects those ideals. Get off your phone, stop posting for validation, and start reflecting your online activism in the real world.
The editorial board is the official opinion of The
DESIGN
Screen-free socials: D.C. welcomes trend of phoneless parties
BY SEHR KHOSLA | GRAPHICS BY HANNAH YU | LAYOUT BY PAUL KANG
F or his “Tombs Night,” the timehonored Georgetown tradition where students celebrate turning 21 by throwing a party before heading to The Tombs, Brendan Carroll (SFS ’26) hosted a function where all 200 attendees put their phones away.
“I want people to be as actively engaged in the party as they can be,” Carroll said. “When everyone got here, there was no way I could make them not take a phone out, but it seemed like everyone just went along with it.”
Although he was initially unsure about if attendees would enjoy a phoneless party, Carroll found that most appreciated the opportunity to be present with new people without the barriers of technology.
“I think people just didn't realise that it was something that they wanted until the opportunity was created for them,” Carroll said. “There were a lot of crossovers and friends who interacted that we didn't expect and funny stories that we wouldn't have anticipated, and that was what sold the night.”
the host, unlock your phone, and take a call.”
Hush Harbor creates an atmosphere unlike other restaurants and bars dotting D.C. because of their tech-free approach.
Peabody has observed increased interaction between strangers and more organic conversations because partygoers are unable to reach for their phones.
Carroll’s phoneless party is part of a growing on- and off-campus trend to embrace authentic connection and unplug from the digital world. Celebrity chef and Hell’s Kitchen season three winner Rock Harper opened Hush Harbor, D.C.’s first phoneless bar and restaurant, on Sept. 5.
Looking for a solution to the distraction of technology in social settings, Harper partnered with Danny Hogenkamp, CEO of the technology company Grassroots Analytics and an offline-party advocate, to bring tech-free social interaction to D.C.
At Hush Harbor, attendees police their own phones. Once they arrive, partygoers place their devices in a Yondr pouch, a fabric bag that stays on you but is designed to keep your phone locked away while you’re in the venue. The pouch can only be unlocked by tapping them on a magnetic device provided by the host.
“The idea is to make it harder to access,” Lydia Peabody, a hostess at Hush Harbor, said. “If you're expecting a call or you have a babysitter and you need to have your phone on for emergencies, by all means [...] come to
“I notice that people are talking to strangers at a bar. People aren't leaving,” Peabody said. “They almost get sucked in because you're not reading your phone and being like, ‘Oh, so-and-so messaged me to go here.’ You just live in the moment.”
The idea for Hush Harbor came from historic hush harbors, spaces that served as safe havens for enslaved African Americans to secretly socialize and practice cultural traditions under oppressive, pre-Civil War slavery laws.
Although Hush Harbor does not carry the same historic significance as its namesake, Peabody said it aligns with their purpose of offering a space for genuine community.
“I don't know if it's a safe haven away, but I think it's a vessel to curate a really authentic connection,” Peabody said.
Peabody made the switch herself from an iPhone to a “dumbphone,” or a mobile phone without any smart features, last July. She did so after joining Hogenkamp’s Month Offline program, which allows D.C. locals to switch to a “dumbphone” for a month. She now serves as a board member of the program.
“It’s more subtle than people expect,” Peabody said about switching from an iPhone. “It really gives people more control and autonomy back, to be like,
‘I'm more in my life. I'm more in my body. I'm more where I am and not in this virtual world.’”
However, not everyone who goes to Hush Harbor comes in prepared to unplug. Some partygoers on the hunt for a weekend activity are completely unaware of the premise of the venue until they enter and are greeted by a Yondr pouch. Peabody recalled one group of bachelor party guests who were surprised by the phone rule.
“They were just wandering on H Street and they didn't know it was a phone-free bar,” Peabody said. “They ended up staying for so long. So I think if people find it and they stumble upon it, it's sort of just like, ‘Whoa, how did we find this really cool space that I've never heard of?’”
For Carroll’s party, all attendees were notified beforehand about the party’s phoneless element, but he said he hesitated to host it at all. He thought it could be a challenge to bring people together and keep them from escaping into their own headspaces through their phones. So he anticipated the typical activities that would make people reach for their phones and planned around them.
“A lot of the time, you just take it out for a photo and then you end up getting distracted for five, 10 minutes,” Carroll said. “So we got cameras so people don’t have the instinct to replace what they might be using their phone for.”
While unconventional, Carroll’s phoneless party was a successful night. He received overwhelmingly positive reactions to the party. Once attendees were committed to the offline intention of the party, they did not even think about accessing their phones, suggesting that phoneless parties could become more popular.
“A lot of people the next day had texted and said ‘I didn't even realise that I didn't have it out until the end of the party,’” Carroll said.
As AI use rises, some Georgetown classes are disconnecting from technology, while others embrace it
BY IMANI LIBURD |
DESIGN BY PAIGE BENISH
When Georgetown students walked into their classrooms during the first week of school, many were met with a surprise: professors going notech. As students went to pull out their laptops and tablets to take notes, some professors informed them that devices would not be allowed throughout the course.
With the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), more Georgetown professors are opting to enforce no-technology policies this fall. This rule forces students to return to old-school ways, taking paper notes and in-class, handwritten exams.
At the same time, some professors are finding ways to incorporate AI into their assignments, recognizing the increasingly prominent role the tool is playing in our society.
A rise in old-school notetaking
Erika Seamon, a professor in the American Studies Program, has been embracing no-tech classrooms for years. Seamon believes that eliminating technology limits the number of distracting tasks students could be doing, allowing them to focus on the subject at hand.
With no computer and no access to the news, email, Wordle, or any of the other activities students do in class, they are instead forced to pay attention and engage with the content.
“When it is not an option to do a little studying for the Spanish exam that’s coming up and it is not an option to quickly reply to an
email, they can try to be present to listen, think, and engage,” Seamon wrote.
Seamon doesn’t believe that Georgetown students are maliciously using their computers in class, rather she finds that they struggle to ignore all of their other responsibilities when they have access to technology.
“They feel that they should be studying for the language test that's in an hour or that they should send this one email because they've kept others waiting,” Seamon wrote to the Voice. “Having students avoid laptops, tablets, and phones during class allows them to put the ‘shoulds’ aside for 75 minutes.”
Like Seamon, Joseph Hartman, Walter I. Giles Associate Professor of the Practice in Constitutional Law, has had a no-tech policy in his classes for several years, limiting students to tablets with a stylus pen.
Hartman initially got the idea to prohibit laptops as a teaching assistant in his graduate program. At the professor’s request, Hartman sat in the back of the class and looked at the screens of all the students.
“Of course, people were surfing the internet,” Hartman said. “It confirmed what we both thought, which was if people have access to devices, it's a natural temptation when things run a little slow in the classroom to jump online.”
Making students more engaged
According to Hartman, when students write notes by hand, they also learn the material better. Rather than mindlessly typing everything the professor says, students have to selectively and consciously choose what information to write. Handwriting increases the chance that they will retain the information later on.
“The physical act of writing— there’s something more embodied, that your brain and body are connected a little bit more,” Hartman said. “You learn better by having to do that, even though it's more difficult.”
Some students have noticed that they are more focused in tech-free classes.
Hartman believes that students are more engaged in classes with notech policies. Some students have noticed this as well.
“You also see that everybody else in the class is also remaining much more focused, which is nice, because there's more participation and engagement and just genuinely feels more like a classroom environment,” Siddharth Krishnan (CAS ’28) said.
Not a perfect solution
Paper-only classes do come with their own challenges that can impact a student’s ability to learn. Many professors post readings online, so students in no-technology courses may need to print out their readings to bring them to class. At Georgetown, finding a printer with paper and ink can often be a hassle, forcing students to search for a printer before class, Krishnan said.
Other students face challenges writing down all the information from the professor.
“Sometimes when professors are speaking super fast and it's a lot of information, it's kind of hard to take notes on paper,” Merel Halfhide (CAS ’27) said. “It’s easier to use my laptop.”
Handwritten exams return
Handwritten notes aren’t the only hallmark of a no-tech class. More professors are opting to eliminate research or take-home papers, citing concerns around the use of AI. Instead, some professors are choosing to administer handwritten bluebook exams.
In the past, Hartman’s classes have had take-home exams. However, this year, he decided to do an in-class final exam, citing concerns over student’s use of AI on papers.
Like Hartman, Marc Howard, professor of government and law and director of the Prisons and Justice Initiative, has also chosen to do an in-person, closed-book midterm this semester, following the usual format of his final exam.
Howard’s changes to exam formats stem Howard professors’ struggles to determine if a student’s work is genuine or assisted by AI programs such as ChatGPT or Google Gemini.
“I just realized that I wouldn’t be able to properly and objectively and fairly assess who did what on their papers the way the assignment was structured. So I got rid of that assignment,” Howard said.
Howard has additionally chosen to add a no-phone policy to his class.
“People have their phones at their desk or in their laps and are constantly sort of peeking at their phones,”
Howard said. “So I decided based on my own assessment of my classroom, but also based on research.”
“Part of our world”
Other professors are embracing technology and AI in their courses. Cal
Newport, professor of computer science, is one of them. At Georgetown, Newport believes there are ways that AI can be incorporated in the classroom outside of technologyrelated courses.
“If, say, certain AI tools are becoming indispensable in academic Art History, then a student studying Art History should be exposed to these tools and how they work,” Newport wrote to the Voice
Georgetown isn’t choosing to completely ignore AI, creating task forces and centers such as the Center for New Designs in Learning and Scholarship. The center helps faculty understand how these tools can be used in the classroom.
Newport serves on the University’s Task Force for Pedagogical Uses of AI, who found that AI tools can be used differently in each classroom, with innovative uses for specific learning goals, depending on the course. The existence of the task force highlights that AI tools aren’t limited to assistance with papers or readings.
When thinking about how technology should or shouldn’t be used, Newport believes digital minimalism is most appropriate.
“Technology should serve things you care about. You should work back from your values, and ask how technology can support them. Then feel confident to not use anything that's not a part of these answers,” Newport wrote.
Mark Fisher, assistant professor in the government department, has encouraged the use of AI tools in his courses to help students during the writing process. However, he said that he doesn’t support the idea of AI being the only tool that students use to understand course material.
“I think with undergraduate classes where they're writing a lot, I don't try to police their use of AI, but I do ask them to talk about their writing a ton in class,” Fisher said.
Fisher said that by talking to students about their writing, he’s able to ensure they’re actively involved in the writing process, even if they may use AI to help them.
Despite the common belief that students use AI to cheat or as a substitute for writing their own papers, Fisher thinks this doesn’t apply to most students at Georgetown. According to Fisher, some students are reluctant to use any kind of AI because they believe they may be accused of cheating.
“There was a lot of discussion a couple of years ago of professors really thinking that students were trying to
cheat the system and use AI to kind of shirk their duties. I haven’t seen any of that with our students,” Fisher said.
Fisher believes there should be a balance between what AI can and cannot be used for. He thinks it’s important for students to engage with AI for some assignments, but not all. Fisher mentioned that AI isn’t going away and is constantly changing, so acknowledging its existence in higher education is important.
“I don’t think it’s an unmitigated good or bad,” Fisher said. “We have to be really intentional about how we use AI. I very much do think it’s going to be part of our world, so trying to pretend that it’s not is not helpful.”
Right now, he believes there is a lot of uncertainty about what’s next for the future of AI and how Georgetown professors will respond to the continuing evolution of this tool.
“We’re kind of in a moment where things are changing so rapidly that it’s hard to know semester by semester what the best way forward is,” Fisher said.
Students grapple with AI and no-tech policies
Some students agree with Fisher and believe that blanket policies prohibiting AI aren't necessarily beneficial for students.
“It’s kind of inevitable, and I think it's better for professors to make rules about how to use it in a proper way, than to say, ‘You can’t use it at all,’ because people are going to use it,” Halfhide said.
Halfhide and Krishnan both said they have used AI in the past but have personally chosen to use it much less now.
While Krishnan does not use AI due to its negative impacts on the environment and marginalized communities, Halfhide emphasized the importance of their education and a desire to do the hard work without assistance.
“I try not to use it too much. I feel like I’m here for my education, so I need to develop my own critical thinking,” Halfhide said.
For Krishnan and Halfhide, some no-tech classes can serve as a space where students are empowered to make the most of their education at Georgetown.
“It also just reminds students of the fact that you can do work and you can have education without AI,” Krishnan said.
BY JOAQUIN MARTINEZ GRAPHICS BY SOPHIE ST AMAND; LAYOUT BY LUCY MONTALTI
At any given moment, millions of songs lie at our fingertips. Platforms like Spotify and Apple Music grant users convenient access to a massive inventory of music for a few dollars every month, putting a world of genres right in front of you. Listening to music on your phone has become commonplace.
Yet, the newfound accessibility of the music industry comes with a price: much of the music we know and love loses some of its depth and meaning. We now listen to music passively. People no longer choose which music to stream, putting playlists on shuffle and indiscriminately consuming the media an algorithm provides. It’s incredibly easy to play songs while doing homework, cooking, or cleaning, reducing them to background noise. As a result, new music that may have once been thrilling to discover now just accompanies our brainless multitasking. I’m not arguing for a revolution against digital streaming, but I think we need to spend more time listening to music in real life and making deliberate choices about the media we consume. To practice what I preach, I decided to do just that.
A few weeks ago, I made the difficult decision to become less of a “screenager.” As someone with a 10hour average daily screen time, it's easy to see the challenge this could present. I have found it difficult, with social media, streaming apps, and instant messaging all at my fingertips, not to have some dependence on electronics. Removing my headphones and turning on “Do Not Disturb,” I stepped out of my cozy dorm and made my way to Bulldog Alley, eager to attend an open mic night hosted by ADDED TO THE FILE, Georgetown’s student-run fashion magazine.
As I entered, the calm, warm atmosphere of the stage lights soothed me. The black walls and the mirror across the back of the room gave the space an ethereal quality. It was an intimate setting, with no more than 30 attendees. Student performances ranged from Coldplay covers to raw, original compositions. Guitars and violins added
beautiful, complex harmonies to the various vocal performances of the night.
The audience cheered and demanded encores from the performers, and each artist was eager to continue their performance to appease the zealous crowd. Personal confessions and laughter from the artists after their songs imbued the room with a feeling of tenderness and sincerity.
The purpose of this open mic night was to highlight the creativity of the Georgetown student body, and it did just that. Despite not performing that night, I felt a sense of beautiful camaraderie among my peers. I was overjoyed to see how comfortable all the performers were sharing their talents. I was also proud of myself: I had successfully stepped away from my phone and my worries of missing something faded as I enjoyed my first live music event since arriving on campus in August.
Before the open mic, it had been quite some time since I had seen live music. Despite rarely attending concerts, I still remember Faye Webster delivering an enchanting show in March with songs from her latest album Underdressed at the Symphony (2024). At the open mic night, I felt that same sense of magic. Being in a room with people who shared my passion for music was a feeling that I simply could not attain from listening to any of my playlists on Spotify. I was immersed in the music, and the social interaction made me feel like I was a part of something larger than myself. Listening to music live, as most humans have in history, allows us to enjoy the experience rather than just the content. I can always press play on my phone, but that will never compare to experiencing music live. In fact, I can’t recall a significant moment where I was listening to music with my headphones on while doing homework or some other tedious
chore. But I do remember chanting the lyrics to “Right Side of My Neck” in unison with the crowd at Faye Webster, revelling in the dim lights of the venue to the hypnotic resonance of the bass guitar.
For me, listening to music alone through online streaming platforms has not in itself been the cause of any form of transcendental experience. Those true moments of passion and emotion came from standing in a crowded venue, with the speakers blaring, or sitting in Bulldog Alley listening to my peers perform. This is amplified by small moments of quiet chatter between performances from the audience, which add to the sense of community while building anticipation for what is to come next.
You don't have to spend hundreds of dollars on concert tickets to experience live music (although you can, if you want!). But there is plenty of live music you can experience for free, especially when you look for the artists in your community who are passionate about expressing their creativity. I think that everyone should unplug from streaming services more often and spending a little more time reconnecting with people playing music around them. !
There is no such thing as “inside”
BY ELAINE CLARKE
DESIGN BY LUCY MONTALTI
It’s the dead of night. You are so very thirsty. You peel yourself out from under your warm covers and tiptoe into the cold, dark hallway. Squinting down the stairs, you find yourself drawn to the glow of the microwave across the kitchen. Red and softly flickering, its clock reads 1 a.m. As you open the fridge, the bright light escaping from the door awakens something at your feet. You look down and see a teeny, tiny ant.
The little creature scurries away—it knows it's been discovered. It flees across cold, hard earth and ducks under a large, humming rock. It is safely sheltered from you, hidden away from the world. The ant is not just under your fridge; the ant is still outside.
From your perspective, the pest is unwelcome in your house. The ant is a visitor from the outdoors, one that is intrusive. But to the ant, your home is just a different (and perhaps stranger) part of their natural world.
And maybe the ant has the right idea. Maybe there really is no such thing as inside.
Despite our strict binary, the line between what is considered “inside” and “outside” is more arbitrary than we think. Is a shelter underneath a tree inside? Could a cave count as someone’s house?
To many critters, humanity and the structures we build are equally a part
of the natural world as any rocks or beds of grass. We need to detach ourselves from the concepts of outside versus inside. In reality, everything is part of the outside world.
From decorating cave walls to building modern day skyscrapers, humans have always found ways to physically distinguish and separate themselves from nature. While some estrangement may be necessary to protect us from harmful weather and dangerous animals, the construction of “inside” has gone beyond protection. We have detached ourselves emotionally from our place in the natural ecosystem.
This idea of nature as something different from human society is misguided. Environmental historian William Cronon argues that as we make wilderness an “other” in an attempt to preserve it, we neglect our true purpose of existing within the natural world. According to Cronon, this perspective of the wilderness as an “other” stems from the Europeans who colonized Native American land. In our attempt to protect the outdoors, through laws and preserves, we create this idea that it is something we need to keep separate from humanity, when in reality we should think of humanity as part of the wilderness.
There’s a tendency for us to occupy the space around us rather than exist within it. The buildings we create exist because of the destruction of the land around it, instead of being created in conjunction with it. Our biggest energy source— fossil fuels—may exist as a product of our environment, but our use of them destroys the world we live in. Much like the pests we scorn in our homes, humans have encroached on the natural world in our own ways, including deforestation and pollution. Far too often we believe our human existence is superior to other living beings when, in reality, we are all united in the same ecosystem.
This is not an original idea. Hindus believe that the divine and the natural world are one, and that the natural world need not be protected, but rather honored. Their spirituality includes rituals like yoga to harmonize humans with nature and higher levels of the universe through mindful movements.
In Buddhist thought, there exists a mutual interdependence between all
things—nothing can exist or be defined without the existence of everything else. They also explain this interconnectedness through karma, the idea that every action has an equal reaction from the universe. These ideas form the Buddhist environmental ethical belief that humans are responsible for the lives of other creatures and should be involved in what happens on Earth.
Yet, these perspectives of nature’s and humanity’s oneness are no longer a part of the greater societal narrative. Georgetown students may find it especially difficult to reimagine the world in this manner. When locked on Lau 5 for hours every day during the never-ending weeks of midterms, it’s hard to believe that there is an outside world at all, let alone that the library is part of it.
So, beyond being outside while inside of Lauinger, how does one reconnect with humanity’s natural side?
In all honesty, I don’t think there’s any wrong way to do this. Intentional movement and periods of thought are what originally made me ruminate over the ridiculousness of inside and outside as a strict binary. Becoming more in tune with my body and mind through yoga and meditation revealed how every part of myself works as one unit––a mirror for humanity’s role in the ecosystem. As I become more mindful of each breath I take with my every movement, I reconnect with how they exist as pieces of the puzzle of the universe. With this attitude, we can accept our small part in the greater flow of existence.
I do not want to call for the entire deconstruction of the idea of inside, or even the deconstruction of inside spaces entirely. I do, in fact, still swat at mosquitos. Yet, when it comes to the tiny ant in my kitchen, I can’t help but question the expected burst of outrage. So, on a campus of students always focused on their inside worlds, it might be helpful to just take a moment, look around, and breathe.
Going feral
BY COLBY KELLY
DESIGN BY PIA CRUZ
We have become too domesticated. We are trapped by structures we built ourselves and controlled by schedules that leave no room for spontaneity or error, diluting genuine connection. Take our mornings, for instance: what if we started becoming less domesticated there?
Wake up—not with an alarm, a phone, a watch, or any other devices. No, wake up with the sun. Ditch the eye mask, blackout curtains, or elaborate sleep optimization setup and rely only on the natural sunlight peering through your window. Skip doing your hair, applying makeup, or any step that falls outside of basic hygiene. Avoid the laundry list of cleansers, toners, moisturizers, gels, serums, and whatever other products the cosmetic industry convinced you were essential. Your skin survived thousands of years without a twelve-step routine; it can handle a day or two of simplicity.
Now comes the fun part: obtain breakfast. Not necessarily hunter-gathering it (though if you're feeling particularly adventurous, go for it), but find it. Wander to your kitchen or over to Leo’s and eat something as unprocessed as possible: fruit that still looks like it grew on a tree, plain yogurt without eight added toppings, or eggs that came from an actual chicken. Drink water out of a hose if you're feeling extra feral, or at least from a glass instead of a plastic bottle.
Congratulations, you’ve lived a less domesticated morning! But this is just the beginning.
From the first moments of our day, we follow such rigid structures, choosing to be domesticated instead of feral. Even this word, feral, elicits discomfort. But perhaps we need such a radical word to inspire a major lifestyle change.
So, why go feral? It all started this summer when I was grabbing a mop from the facilities room of the summer camp where I worked. I walked past the water heater and noticed a sticker that I had previously overlooked: "DOMESTIC WATER." I laughed out loud. We are in the middle of the woods, and we have domesticated water? How does one even domesticate water?
mean, I can't even sleep without an eye mask or blackout curtains. Our time is scheduled down to the minute, and our days have gotten longer by utilizing artificial lights.. Everything we could ever need is arguably too accessible. Most glaringly, we spend so much time looking at screens our attention spans are worse than a goldfish’s.
We need to break away from the ease of our daily lives. Going feral doesn't necessarily require the elimination of technology or modern advancements, but it does mean being aware of the little conveniences that exist, all the extra products we consume, and the comforts we have so carefully built. It’s recognizing everything that keeps us from having unstructured time to connect with the natural, unpredictable world around us.
Standing in that facility room, I also wondered: What if we lost it all tomorrow? How would we function without prepackaged foods, the internet, or even time?
I’d like to think we would find a way, one that would ultimately leave us feeling connected to each other by leaning into our discomfort. We would become more aware of our surroundings—noticing the colors in our sky, remembering people's names, and, ultimately, feeling less constantly overwhelmed.
Even with its “domestic water,” the summer camp I worked at, YMCA Camp Reed, is a case study in going a little bit feral: a no-technology camp driven by the belief that we need to disconnect to connect. While we still follow a schedule and rely on a bell to tell us when to go where, we let go of structure in many other ways.
Meals are not just a set time to eat but a time to connect, listen to music in the lodge, and dance on the tables. Instead of just yelling at a screen, we play old camp games like kick the can and capture the flag, allowing us to talk with each other. Sometimes we just meander around, getting lost in the woods and connecting to the land we are fortunate enough to call our playground. Upon leaving camp, I felt much more social and when I looked around our last sta! meeting, I was able to recall endless genuine conversations with everyone in the room. This was something unheard of back at school, where an obsession for organization interferes with thoughtful connection.
Going feral doesn't mean letting go of every modern convenience. Instead, we can start small. Maybe we change the first thing we see in the morning from our phones to the sky. Perhaps we take a longer dinner, or ask strangers instead of Google for directions. Above all else, we should intentionally create less structured days, still attending important events like classes but leaving room for boredom, uncertainty, and reflection. Deciding right in the moment what you're going to do, not days before, prioritizes genuine, intentional interactions.
This sparked a realization of just how domesticated our lives have become. I
Absent from technology, we spend most of our time outside, allowing us to spend less energy focused on what's next and more time present with each other. In this environment, we build relationships in one week that might otherwise take months.
I think we could all use a little more “feral” in our daily lives — accepting that things shouldn't always be organized, easy, or domestic. Life is, instead, messy, confusing, and unpredictable, but it is these experiences that connect us to one another. "
Beat perfectionism one drop serve at a time
BY STELLA LINN GRAPHICS BY MASSIMO D'ONOFRIO | LAYOUT BY KATIE REDDY
If you walk past the Yates tennis courts in the early evening, you may have the pleasure of witnessing a feat of nature: my horrendous tennis playing. Not the worst tennis you will ever see, but far from the best—just good, old-fashioned, belowaverage playing.
average person should be capable of. Whether through beauty filters, e downright lies, the illusion of perfection on social media is mounting—and anyone with an account can feel it.
In April 2024, my friends and I, like many others, watched the movie Challengers. We were hooked. It sparked a passion in a group that had never played tennis before. Since then, when we need a moment to decompress, someone sends that familiar text: “Anyone up for some tennis?” and the pilgrimage to Yates begins. What started lingering obsession with the new cult-classic movie later transitioned into a way to beat the sophomore slump. As school and internship pressure piled up, the hour spent running around the tennis court, excited over a three-ball rally, became one of the few spaces where those stressors faded away. Though it may sound odd, the cornerstone of why we found playing tennis so cathartic is that we are all bad.
This pressure to fit the ideal is especially compounded when it comes to exercise. With the exponential rise in online popularity of workouts like reformer pilates and yoga sculpt, there is an expectation to constantly work out and be flawless while doing so. The “pilates princess” life not only requires perfection in the studio, but in all aspects of life. To be healthy and happy you must wake up by 6 a.m., go to a Corepower class in a matching set and slick-back, drink bone broth and green juice, be home in time to perfectly blow out your hair before working a full day, reset your apartment, take a walk to ensure you are getting 10,000 steps, drink peppermint tea, and take magnesium supplements—all to be in bed by 9 p.m. While not inherently insidious (it is, of course, good to move your body), the issue lies in the expectation to do everything every day. Pop culture constantly tells us, as individuals, to optimize ourselves. Each new optimization is a prerequisite to a fulfilling life, and you are expected to be great before you even start. It only takes a few scrolls on TikTok’s “For You” page to convert simply existing into a non-starter.
To be on the internet is to be inundated with pressure to be perfect. While scientific studies show that social media leads to heightened notions of perfectionism and anxiety, it does not take a PhD in psychology to see that. Social media feeds constantly display the most impressive outliers in any given field; they also make it seem like these athletic, musical, or beautiful feats are something that the
social media and no doomscrolling will have an outsized impact on quality of life. Many sports are also inherently social, so whether you play with a stranger or your best friend, you are playing the game with someone.
Breaking our isolation through sports is possible at Georgetown, despite the school’s emphasis on perfectionism. Here, all of your friends are in the same place with access to Campus Recreation facilities. If there was ever a time to pick up a sport to play badly, it is here and now. Still, the most important part of this is to be bad at the sport you are playing. The best way to break out of the constant need for perfectionism is to let yourself be imperfect.
The final piece of this expectation is commodification. If you don’t post your achievements in a “Day in My Life” video, then your perfect day did not happen. The ultimate goal of this perfection is profitability. Not only does this discourage you from trying anything new, but it also changes the idea of success. Rather than measuring a day based on quality time spent, life is about interactions, views, and likes.
It is of note that this perfectionism is only exacerbated at Georgetown, where the culture around LinkedIn, straight A’s, law school applications, return o aspect of wanted to try badminton, team has tryouts.
Trip on the soccer field. Completely whiff at the tennis ball. Miss every single basket. After laughing it off and leaving the field, court, or pitch with a weight lifted off your shoulders, you’ll have a wonderful realization: no one actually cares. Hitting the net more
BY HALFTIME SPORTS DESIGN BY ELLE MARINELLO
Growing up, gym teachers and commercials constantly told us that we needed at least an hour of physical activity every day. One ubiquitous campaign pushing children to get outside and get active was the NFL’s Play60, which placed ads throughout football games and cartoons encouraging young viewers to spend at least 60 minutes playing daily.
For many of us, an hour of play was an achievable goal through sports, recess, and free time outside. However, our professors sadly do not give us recess, and it can be harder to stay active as midterms and internships (as well as student journalism) take up our time. At Georgetown, we feel pressured to be productive and efficient, often leading us to choose optimized workouts that maximize return on our time investment. In contrast, play does not have a strict goal of fitness and is more about fun than improving our physique. With that in mind, four Voice Sports writers attempted to complete a full week of active play for at least one hour every day. Below, we chronicle a week where we #Play60.
Monday was probably the easiest day for me to get 60 minutes of play. I typically finish my classes early and have an intramural soccer game in the evening. This Monday was no different; I spent an hour playing soccer with friends and won the game in a penalty kick
On Tuesday, my first class starts at 11 a.m., and my last class ends at 6:15 p.m. I am not a morning person in any way, shape, or form, so that really only left the evening. I ended up at home after classes with no desire to walk back to campus and the gym. I decided to take my volleyball out into the yard and pass it around. It wasn’t the same as an actual game, but I had a good time and editor’s note: that’s less than 60) of play before it got too dark.
: Wednesday was another simple day for me. I had an intramural volleyball game in the evening, and I stayed after the game ended to play basketball with friends. This amounted to nearly two hours of play, and the time
: A lot of schoolwork and a tedious midterm essay meant Thursday was my most difficult day. However, I took breaks from my writing and instead of going on my phone like usual, I went outside and walked around. It was a nicer break than mindless scrolling, but I only managed to record 30 minutes of walking as my exercise.
: On Friday, I tried very hard to get my midterm essay done in time for some exercise in the evening. Unfortunately, I was not done in time to head to Yates and play soccer or basketball. That left a short evening walk as an essay break, as well as more backyard volleyball.
: I simply don’t have a consistent enough schedule to manage an hour of play every day. Some days I have homework, some days I have meetings, and some days I’m just feeling exhausted. I constantly feel the pressure of assignments and extracurriculars, which leaves me with little energy for things that don’t feel urgent or important for my future. Still, making the effort to get outside and play for even part of an hour helped me feel better. I was more energized overall, even if I wasn’t being productive in the traditional Georgetown sense.
: After agreeing to participate in this challenge in the evening of the first day, I frantically headed to Yates to knock out a workout. However, as I sat at the lateral pulldown machine on a day that was supposed to be my rest day, I found myself stressing about all of the studying I could have been doing to prepare for my midterm
: Two hours of club rugby practice made Tuesday easier. Practice is a good escape from schoolwork, but this week I had trouble focusing on what the coaches were saying because of my ongoing battle against my studying. This,
Wednesday: Last semester, I got into the habit of running three or four times a week. Shamefully, I haven’t gone on a single run since the start of the school year, so I decided it was time for a change. Little did I know, running for an hour was a wildly unrealistic goal, and my one-hour “run” became a one-hour walk and jog. Still 60 minutes, though!
Thursday: I had yet another two-hour practice today that I was honestly dreading (don’t tell my coaches). Before practice, I told myself to just enjoy the time I would be spending with my friends rather than worrying about getting a fulfilling workout in. It gave me a completely different outlook on this challenge, and I felt excited for my last day.
Friday: Most of my friends don’t have classes on Fridays, so I looked around for people to help me complete the challenge’s final day. An hour later, I did something I’ve been wanting to do since I arrived as a first-year student over a year ago: play spikeball on the lawn. I felt like I was back on summer break without a worry in the world, and before I knew it, over an hour had gone by.
Conclusion: My biggest takeaway from this week is that exercise is just as important for mental health as physical health. I don’t think worrying about getting an hour of intense play a day is necessary. Rather, I think using exercise as an outlet, whether it’s going for a walk or playing spikeball on the lawn, is far more healthy for our minds.
Eep…
By Eileen Weisner
Monday: I was not off to a good start on Monday. I soaked up some midday sun on the HFSC patio after one of my classes as a way to get 60 minutes outside, and did homework between 8 and 9 p.m. At least the mosquitoes weren’t out.
Tuesday: Another midday sunshine session. Was I doing work? Yes. Was I outside? Also yes. I count that as a win. After a series of afternoon monsoons, my friend and I took a half-hour neighborhood stroll.
Wednesday: While I hit peak productivity in the morning and evening, my afternoon was swallowed up by miscellaneous obligations. My one hour of outdoor time came in the form of tabling during the Farmers’ Market. The lack of physical activity in my schedule grows more prominent as the semester picks up, and I’m really noticing it now (regrettably, while I chronicle it in print).
of class with my weekly tennis match at Yates. While not outdoor activity, I believe it mostly matched the Play60 guidelines. I lost the first set 6-4, which we had started last week, but I am up 4-2 in the second set. Stay tuned for updates.
I went to classes, submitted a problem set, and completed homework to prevent the Sunday scaries. I got Julia to take a post-dinner walk with me, which, as you’ll see, makes up a much more significant portion of my weekly exercise than it does hers.
boosts my mood and sleep. Moving forward, I want to be more intentional about my time and consciously build in more physical movement. (Edit: Sunday morning, I went to Yates and also walked laps on the Kehoe track. Be the change you want to see in the world.)
thought about what really counts as “playing” when you aren’t an elementary schooler with recess. While the Play60 campaign focused on getting 60 minutes of physical activity, I took our challenge to mean making a concerted effort to play for fun outdoors
three hours on Cooper Field every Tuesday. Although three hours in one day certainly is a lot, I have learned that blocking
