As a freshman this year with many more opportunities to meet people and as someone who has been in a lot of new group settings, a common icebreaker I have been given is: what’s your hot take? This question doesn’t only allow kids to meet new people, but also to gauge the person’s overall views and personality. Given the nature of the bubbling political climate, hot takes are increasingly taken out of context or seen as offensive. Recently, when I was in DC with Hopkins for the Civic Leadership Summit in my seminar group, I presented my hot take “Hot dogs are a taco.” One of the kids in my group immediately responded with a gasp and a “What?!” followed by a bunch of shouting and kids were raising their voices. Even though “Hot dogs are a taco” is not very serious, and fortunately for me, did not become a full-scale debate, sometimes a more serious take will blow up and be taken a step too far. But, hot takes aren’t the problem; our inability to disagree lightly is.

It was eight AM on a Friday morning, and seven hundred sleepy-eyed Hilltoppers filled the Athletic Center as Mayor Justin Elicker settled into one of the school’s nicer armchairs. While some may have looked up from their phones only when he balanced a chair on his chin, and some may not have even been in attendance at all, those who were paying attention will likely remember one of his most direct claims about civic involvement: “Private schools shouldn’t exist.” For that line alone, I would like to nominate this assembly as one of the most memorable of the year.

Growing up, especially as a kid in the arts (I prefer that term to theatre-kid because it has negative connotations these days), I was always aware of the fact that I was taking up space. Physically, I was a pretty small kid, but I had a personality the size of half my second grade class. I knew that when I talked, people laughed, but when I talked at the wrong times, I would get sent to “the office,” which was where the principal told you to behave and asked you not to get your parents involved. As I have grown older, however, my perspective on taking up space has shifted. It has taken countless hours of overthinking, years of embarrassing myself for a good laugh, and many periods of being the only person talking in my English class to make me realize that there is one thing that makes people sacrifice the space they should be taking up: Embarrassment. I have felt an abundance of embarrassment in my life, but I am now coming to you, as a person who is a pro at making a fool of themselves, to say that, in the big 26, being embarrassed is embarrassing.

Imagine it’s early September. The leaves are starting to change, and everyone has that fresh, back-to-school glow, naive to the burnout most of us face later in the school year. On Thompson Quad, you’re met with an onslaught of sticker-covered poster boards and plastic bowls filled with snickers. Upperclassmen shout to be heard above the chaos as they pitch their ideas, droning on far longer than anyone is actually listening. Freshmen race to put their names on as many sign up sheets as possible while seniors steal candy from their friends’ tables. Yep, you guessed it, you’re at the activities fair. But although this day is supposed to be inspiring, most of us are left with one question: Are these students really invested in the activities they sign up for?

Forty-three days of a shuttered federal government didn’t just expose a budget crisis. It exposed something deeper: a media ecosystem so polarized that it helped cause and sustain the longest shutdown in American history, whose effects continue to linger.