T

he night my first 
Daily 
article 
ran, 
I 
found 
myself sleepless, so I 
popped on some sneakers 
and went for a jog under 
the midnight moon.
There isn’t anything 
quite like the sensation 
of running in Ann Arbor 
after dark, I learned that 
night. Sprinting north up 
Washtenaw Avenue, all 
five lanes will be devoid 
of traffic while 20-foot-
high traffic lamps and the 
glass-paneled biomedical 
complex tower over you. 
Crossing the Broadway 
Bridge south into Ker-
rytown, you can see the 
Medical 
Center 
shine 
atop a hill in the distance, 
and hear the black river 
water 
gurgle 
beneath 
your feet.
At 6 a.m. the morning 
after, I giddily hopped 
out of bed and finagled 
a 
newly-arrived 
copy 
of The Daily from the 
Markley Residence Hall 
newsstand while still in 
my pajamas, and read my piece 
below the fold of the front page. 
Then I read it again, and then 
again, absorbing my own words 
from the raggedy newsprint 
paper before me, searching for 
some sense of attainment.
There was a magic in seeing 
the event I had covered — a cam-
pus visit by an alum-turned-con-
gressman — translated to words 
on a Google Doc, and then tran-
scribed to newsprint, printed 
out 10,000 times and dispersed 
around the city. Yet at the same 
time, I somehow felt I hadn’t 
yet done enough. There were so 
many stories to be written, so 
much more to be achieved.
This 
sense 
of 
insecurity 
has been pervasive during my 
four years in Ann Arbor. It has 
manifested itself as a constant 

fear that I wouldn’t be “good 
enough,” 
and 
an 
overriding 
obsession with external accom-
plishments — grades, internships 
and the pettiest of distinctions. 
Any opportunity to succeed was 
also an opportunity to fail, and it 
terrified me.
Arguably, this fear has helped 
me. In a month, I’ll be extremely 
fortunate to graduate and join 
a firm I couldn’t have dreamed 
of working for as a freshman. 
I’m also grateful for having the 
opportunity to pour my heart 
into The Daily, and to leave with 
a student newspaper career I can 
be proud of. Yet, I also feel like 
that freshman reading his first-
ever Daily article — I’ve accom-
plished what I wanted, but now 
what? Four years later, I still feel 
short of that final attainment 

I tried to find in the Markley 
lobby.
Over these same four years, 
my late-night runs across town 
allowed me a regular escape into 
my own thoughts — away from 
others and my anxieties. It’s dur-
ing these runs that I felt most at 
home in Ann Arbor.
O

ne night each Decem-
ber, The Daily’s grad-
uating seniors finish 
production early, then drive to 
the industrial printer where we 
source the printed newspapers 
that plop in Ann Arbor’s morn-
ing newsstands. Over the years, 
this tradition has become the 
fabled culmination of each grad-
uating class’ years of labor.
I and four others merrily 
clambered into one of the cars 
making this midnight journey, 

our destination a nondescript 
industrial park outside of Flint. 
A line of our vehicles snaked out 
of the newsroom parking lot for 
the hour-long drive, our cara-
van quickly broken up by traf-
fic lights and other cars as we 
snaked north.
Driving late at night under a 
clear sky, you can see a bright 
white glow across the horizon 
both in front and behind you, 
light pollution emanating from 
the northern Detroit suburbs 
from one side and from Flint on 
the other. Traveling through this 
eerie zone, we passed a barn ele-
vated on a hillside, perfectly sil-
houetted black against the glow 
from Flint and illuminated under 
a full moon and starry night.
I was taken aback by the 
simple beauty of the structure 

and suggested we take a 
photo.
The 
friend 
driving 
offered to pull aside. But 
by then, the barn was well 
behind 
us, 
swallowed 
behind 
another 
hill. 
Turning around wasn’t 
yet out of the question, 
but that would just make 
us late to our destination.
A

t the end of 
every stage of 
my 
life, 
I’ve 
landed 
roughly 
where 
I’ve wanted to land, but 
also been swamped with 
new goalposts deemed 
necessary to reach an 
ever-elusive sense of sat-
isfaction, 
an 
ultimate 
attainment 
of 
adult-
hood. Admitted to your 
dream school? Great, now 
you need to get perfect 
grades. Internship offer 
from a great company? 
Cool, work your heart out 
so you can exit to an even 
“better” job next summer. 
Enjoying your work for 
The Daily? Push for that 
one last promotion.
It’s only now that I’ve real-
ized external validation alone 
can never make one truly happy.
As fortunate as I’ve been, I’ve 
cast aside the fleeting moments 
that give life its magic in the pur-
suit of some grand future end-
game. And then I’m left craning 
my neck around, trying to make 
out the outlines of the barn that 
has long since passed.
After this article goes to print 
Tuesday night, I’ll slip on my 
sneakers again and take advan-
tage of the early spring. I move 
out of my apartment the day of 
graduation, so there aren’t many 
more of these runs in Ann Arbor 
left for me.
It’s all quite a sight along my 
jogging route, and you should 
see it, too, before you leave Ann 
Arbor.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019 // The Statement
2B

BY BRIAN KUANG, STATEMENT CONTRIBUTOR
One last ride

Managing Statement Editor

Andrea Pérez Balderrama

Deputy Editors

Matthew Harmon

Shannon Ors

 Designers

 Liz Bigham

 Kate Glad

 Copy Editors

 Miriam Francisco

 Madeline Turner

Photo Editor

Annie Klusendorf

Editor in Chief

Maya Goldman

Managing Editor

Finntan Storer
statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | MARCH 27, 2019

ILLUSTRATION BY LAUREN KUZEE

