What Matters Most
What matters most to you and why?
It's often said that the dinner table is the center of the home, but the dinner table is the center of my world. The moments shared over dinner have been the most pivotal in shaping my character and are responsible for the understanding and confidence that spur me to dive into the unknown. That’s why the dinner table — what is on it and who surrounds it — is what matters most to me.
Family dinner was a fixture in my home as I grew up. Over my mom’s lovely meals, my family of five would sit down together every night. We discussed what we learned in school, raved about books, detailed goals and fears, asked questions about current events, and practiced foreign languages to prepare for upcoming travels. Our family table was where I first learned to speak my mind, inquire and critique, and explore lofty dreams.
I was ten when I discovered the indelible effect that sheer curiosity could have on me. The culprit: a bowl of seaweed fennel soup. I was overwhelmed by the menu at a special dinner in Provence, but I ordered despite the unknowns. The first bite quite literally opened my eyes, which widened with delight upon the initial taste. Transported, I needed to know everything about that soup. It was my first transformative dining experience, teaching me the power of an open mind and discovering new joys.
Similar experiences carried me into adulthood. While interning in (city) one summer, I was toying with the idea of founding a new club at (college) —a chapter of (organization), an online food publication. Starting down this uncharted path was nerve-wracking, and the thought of creating an entirely new club gave me pause. Over our favorite spaghetti bolognese, I shared my idea and my reservations with my brother. He heard the excitement and passion in my voice, and allaying my fears, encouraged me to pursue the challenge. I did, and I found great joy in the journey. Building something from the ground up and seeing a community come to life was a deeply fulfilling experience—and proved entirely worth the effort and risk.
On Election Night 2016, I planned an elaborate spread for my watch party in a nod to embracing the ideals of one candidate and rejecting those of the other. I laid out tacos, pierogi, char siu bao, latkes, pad kee mao, empanadas, and pani puri for my friends as we settled in for what we assumed would be a celebratory night. Hours later, with the champagne sitting sad and unopened, I was relieved to be surrounded by friends so we could try to make sense of what we’d just witnessed together.
My priorities and view of the world changed that night. I had always considered myself a citizen of the world, but perhaps I’d overlooked my own, more immediate community. This realization compelled me to start reading news from varied outlets and pick up more non-fiction books, and it was this shift that led me to commit so doggedly to volunteering in the 2020 election. I felt the weight of the moment acutely and needed to join the movement for change. Dedicating hours every week to phone banking in swing states, I spoke with voters whose circumstances were quite different from mine. Reflecting on these conversations over dinner with my roommate, I realized that while they may not have changed political opinions, they made me more understanding and less judgmental, and encouraged me to continue volunteering beyond the election.
I’m eager to learn what new perspectives and understanding I’ll cultivate when bringing my GSB community to the table. I’ll have about 500 dinners to look forward to at Stanford, and I plan to make the most of each one.