For all the theorems and postulates I’ve learned as a math major, my favorite hypothesis isn’t truly math-based. The branching-worlds theory posits that every decision we make splits our universe into separate parallel realities based on the potential outcomes. So sometimes, when it’s late at night and counting sheep just can’t force me to fall asleep, I think about the past — what would I do differently if I knew my future?
Well, for starters, I would invest in Nvidia before it gets big. I’d also spot every scam call and text heading my way, since I seem to fall for nearly all of them. I’d connect more with my friends, enjoying the campus more often with them before it’s overrun with construction. I’d study more for certain classes and cut my losses in others (because we all know Optimization isn’t my strong suit no matter how many office hours I go to).
Honestly, the list seems endless, but they also force me to ask myself a pressing question: What’s so wrong with the reality I’m in right now — the one where I made every single choice, misstep and triumph that brought me to this point? Nothing really comes to mind, because I find that even the mistakes were necessary experiments, grounds for the person I’ve become.
So, to my freshman self:
You’ve just moved to Texas with your parents, leaving behind your childhood home, friends, and all you’ve ever known in Indiana. You’re grappling with newfound “city living” in Austin while your parents are trying to make the most of a difficult COVID-19 move. You’re banking on the belief that if you just put one foot in front of the other, no matter how challenging the situation is, you can walk a straight path from syllabus day to graduation at UT Austin without blinking.
Spoiler alert: it’s not that cut and dry. I write this to you now as a soon-to-be Hopkins alum — graduating with degrees in Applied Math & Statistics and Economics, internships under my belt, papers in journals you’ve never even heard of, but above all else, grit. Nothing I have accomplished today was part of my color-coded 5-year plan created freshman year (not even my majors!), but it is the gift of the many detours I had to take — it’s the reward for persevering and maintaining an optimistic outlook.
So, continue pushing! You will find so many roadblocks in your first year at UT, but it’s only because you strive for more that you will end up at Hopkins.
That said, here at Hopkins, you will bomb your first few assignments, unable to keep up with the sudden jump in course rigor. You’ll curse the curriculum for hours before understanding how to learn properly. Frustrating? Incredibly. But you’ll find that the struggle will teach you more about precision, patience and the beauty of a well-defined equation more than passively absorbing a lecture could. You’ll discover that dissecting your own mistakes isn’t punishment — it’s a conversation with your own mind.
But also, through Hopkins, you’ll meet friends who become family and others who naturally drift away. The weekly Levering lunches, the impromptu UniMini runs, the passionate rants on problem sets and exams — these are not distractions, but the threads that weave joy and gratitude throughout your life. When senior year comes around and your friends inevitably part ways, you’ll realize that connection isn’t about proximity. It’s about the willingness to show up even when life gets busy.
At Hopkins, you’ll fall in love with an idea — perhaps a class project or hobby you want to pick up (can’t be too specific and spoil everything for you!) — that feels too big to wrap your mind around. That obsession will become the cornerstone of your passions, teaching you that curiosity is a stronger compass than prescriptive certainty. But that’s not to say it won’t come with its own share of failures: declined applications, flopped presentations, scrapped research projects. Each “no” will sting in a unique way, but every rejection redirects you and sharpens your drive. Embrace these setbacks as the price you pay for growth — they transform inspiration into lessons learned.
Above all, freshman me, remember this: the branching-worlds hypothesis isn’t an invitation to regret. It’s an affirmation that every branch has a purpose. The “you” in that alternate reality who never missed an assignment or never said the wrong thing might be successful in one way — but you would miss the empathy, the grit, the stories that make your journey uniquely yours.
So, keep choosing, keep falling, keep recalculating, keep trying! The reality you’re building — one late-night study session, one friendship, one failure at a time — is so much more extraordinary than any flawless path you could have imagined.
With all the hard-earned lessons of tomorrow,
Your Future Self
“What’s wrong with knowing what you know now and not knowing what you don’t know until later?”
– Winnie the Pooh
Maya Niyogi is a senior from Lafayette, Indiana, graduating with a B.S. in Applied Mathematics & Statistics and a B.A. in Economics.
