On the final day of each HMI program, every student shares a written “Full Circle” reflection. This Full Circle essay was shared by Tessa Hicks at the end of Semester 54 (Spring, 2025).
The first day here, I noticed my bed was missing a bedside table. Everyone else either had a windowsill for their books or a dresser nearby, but I had neither. Thinking it must be a simple oversight, I walked over to Molly’s office, where I found Sergio. “Do you know if I can get a bookshelf anywhere?” I asked. “Just something to put my book and journal down next to my bed—even a milk crate would work.” Surely, this wouldn’t be a problem. But Sergio just smiled and said, “We live simple in means, rich in ends out here.”
I was baffled. If a milk crate isn’t simple in means, then what is? But now, I think I understand. Melting dirty ice into drinking water is simple. Picking out the big leaves, twigs, and the occasional bug. Smacking the drom against the hard rock to knock off stray pieces of ice—that’s simple.
I thought I knew simple. Using the foot pump on my mom’s sailboat to make the faucet run. Dropping iodine pills into my Nalgene bottle, filled from a running stream. Back then, I thought that was simple, but now I know—that was luxury.
On first exped, eating dried black beans for a snack was simple. Passing the bag around, laying a small handful in a crack in the rock. Saying, “This isn’t even that bad,” and, “Why is it lowkey kinda good?” Simple is coming up with a new meal when you’re supposed to have pizza, but your cheese is green. Rolling out dough, coating it in cinnamon sugar, and frying it in the last of your butter—that’s simple in means.
Simple is celebrating the highlight of your day because you finally pooped, running back to camp screaming, “I did it!” and everyone clapping. Simple is asking what we should do in the cabin that night, and half an hour later, balancing nine cards between our toes. Simple is borrowing your friend’s jeans because you could only fit two pairs in your suitcase. Simple is scrounging in the recycling for the backing of your science poster. Simple is finding the funniest things dancing together, coming up with bribes for Raffi. Simple is waking up to Charlotte’s blaring recorder, since we don’t have an alarm clock.
Yes, as Sergio said, we do live simple in means out here. But do we live rich in ends?
Rich in ends is not needing a bedside table because you’re too busy laughing and snuggling with your cabin mates to read. Doing the splits and playing Codenames in the daybed while my book sits unopened in my duffel. Rich is the perfect crushed ice on second exped, once you realize you have to keep your bottle in your sleeping bag to keep it from freezing. Sharing dried mango in the Midd as hail blankets the outside world.
Rich is walking on solid ground after post-holing for ten days straight. Rich is dancing to “Coconut” on the porch while it snows, and again in the AB after study hall. Rich is singing “Ready For It” by Taylor Swift, in Spanish, in the snow, with tears streaming down your face. Rich is the first sip of exped lemonade, and finding water to “wade” in. Rich in ends is having the time to sit in silence with your friends, until one of us says, “Can I just say…?”
Going for walks with the sun on your face and the mountains at your back—that is rich in ends. Rich is the awkward crawl out of the quigloo, and not getting snow down your back. Hugging with all your puffy layers on, summiting Mount Zion, and skiing down with nothing but fields of white below you. Rich is a community where everyone dances at prom, where everyone has a seat at the table. Rich is calling my parents and hearing them say, “You look a lot happier here.” Rich is cleaning the Bus Barn with Charlotte, and sharing shower shoes when you left yours in the cabin. Rich is laughing so hard you pee your pants on a random Tuesday.
I used to think “simple in means, rich in ends” just meant living with basically nothing. But now I see: in exchange for living with less, you gain so much more. Out here, with these people, you build the strongest, most fulfilling relationships—the kind that make you realize you never needed a bedside table after all.
This article first appeared in the Fall 2025 Newsletter.
