On my nightstand both at Andover and at home is a little red book with gold lettering on the cover: 兵法. The Art of War.

Let me be very honest. I barely read the thing. Cracked it open a few times, read chapter 1 more than twice, and flipped through pages looking for sage advice. The hype is not worth it guys… I thought by watching Technoblade’s “Potato War” series over and over that this book would contain the most fantastic strategies on living life and winning battles. But now when I read it, like, what am I even supposed to do with this? “It follows that when one rolls up the armour and sets out speedily, stopping neither day nor night and marching at double time for a hundred li, the three commanders will the captured. For the vigorous troops will arrive first and the feeble straggle along behind, so that if this method is used only one-tenth of the armor will arrive.”

Like, come on. The closest thing I’ve done to marching double time for a hundred li is a 50km bike ride or a half marathon. And I didn’t bring troops, unless troops are a smashed up Nature Valley Oats ‘n Honey and a bottle of water.

Before April, I was tweaking about Co-Prez. It was an unhealthy obsession, and I was convinced that somehow whatever small bits of wisdom I’d gleaned from the book was going to help me win the presidential race. Over Spring break, I’d be up from 1-3 in the morning, writing and rehearsing my speech with Anny, who I ended up downloading WeChat to communicate with. I’d wake up in cold sweats after having nightmares of losing the election – campus would turn gray, and the only song that played was the all the leaves are brown one. (Philip & Gracie you’re my goats by the way please don’t take it personal) It didn’t really matter by the way, we lost. All that work amounted to nothing.

Well, after losing, I really considered ripping up the book, throwing it around, and just wallowing in my self-pity. It felt so terrible, that all of the nights of planning and work and meetings with faculty all went out the window. I even wrote a little emo memoir about being a loser all my life. Imagine me dressed in all black, taking a draw from a cigarette, and whispering to the rain: I thought I knew what losing was…

When I woke up the morning after a fretful sleep, I felt miserable. I re-read my emo essay. I felt even more miserable. Then I looked over at The Art of War. I rolled around in bed. Burying my head under my pillow, I blotted out the light that insisted on inviting itself into my otherwise-dark room. I ignored texts from friends the night before, checking on me. After a little bit more of trying to blot the world out, duty called.

3 quick pings that at least got me to sit up in bed and look back again at that shiny gold cover for the book. Before replying to the texts, I cracked the book open to a random page.

“Of the five elements, none is always predominant; of the four seasons, none lasts forever; of the days, some are long and some short, and the moon waxes and wanes.”

Ah, of course. In my head I translated: “keep your head up king, this a stupid thing to be down about – go mosh or something.”

No failure is final. There’ll always be another season, a moon cycle, a good and bad day. There was no reason to make my no-good very bad day yesterday another no-good very bad day that day. So yeah, I rolled out of bed. I set up for a club event. I moshed with new friends, and I had a good time. It’s not the first time I’ve learned this lesson, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last either.

Maybe that day, the moon was waning. Maybe next time, I’ll still lose. I’ll probably mope again. But come on, when there are events with free boba and pineapple buns to run, I’ll know how to get out of bed too.