As an upper middle class kid from a sleepy New Jersey suburb, developments in society and politics have had, until recently, only theoretical impacts on my life. Even Donald Trump’s 2016 upset election did not tangibly affect me. I was in disbelief about his betrayal of core values that I had believed to be universal, but I continued my education and benefitted from the financial cushion of my parents’ well-paying jobs.

Coronavirus transformed my relationship with the news. My life was upended on March 10, 2020, when Dean Khurana asked Harvard College students to move out within five days. Soon, I was back in my high school bedroom, where I was expected to somehow resume my college experience. Almost two months later, I still do not know when I can go back. My summer research fellowship also turned remote—I was, implausibly, called to continue my wet-lab biomedical project from home. For the first time, headlines in my daily Washington Post read were more than just a way to find out whether my “side” was winning or losing in the culture war. For the foreseeable future, headlines like these will actually determine my life.

I recognize that my relative privilege likely insulates me from the worst effects of this pandemic. Yet, the virus’s unusually direct impact has made me reevaluate my future and has invigorated me with duty and urgency. I find myself weighing the benefits of further education through graduate school with the costs of delaying my active engagement. I question how I should balance my own security with the imperative to do more for those who have less. Most of all, I wonder how I might help a broken world begin to heal.