Student view: A love letter to Spartans — the beauty of vulnerability and belonging
Yu-Chen Lin is a doctoral candidate in cello performance in the Michigan State University College of Music. Originally from Taiwan, she earned her master’s degree from National Taiwan Normal University before beginning her journey in the United States at MSU. She has served as a graduate assistant and currently is the president of the American String Teachers Association's MSU Student Chapter.
Before an early morning rehearsal, I wandered down the quiet hallway of the Billman Music Pavilion, my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee’s gentle warmth. Through the window, the first snow was falling — soft, unhurried, gently layering the ground. Outside, the world was cooling into stillness; inside, the day was just beginning to unfold. In those luminous mornings, I am reminded of how fortunate I am to be surrounded by music, community and beauty every day.
As a music student at MSU for almost four years, I’ve experienced joy, excitement, fulfillment, loss, loneliness, regret and countless mistakes. All of it has shaped me into a different person. Yet no matter what happens, whenever I walk into the College of Music, I feel the same vibrant energy in the air. It’s almost as if the building itself is saying to me: “I will still be here, no matter what. I will still be here, no matter who you are or who you have become.”
Although I have learned so much in my time here, there are a few lessons that I would like to share. Compassion, cooperation, sharing and working together are, after all, the Spartan way.
The first lesson I’ve learned here is that nothing is certain. I used to be someone who lived by plans and timelines. Studying abroad wasn’t part of my life plan, yet here I am at MSU, by luck and coincidence. Over these years, nearly 90% of things have turned out differently than I imagined, even long-held dreams I thought would define my future. It was hard to process, but slowly I’ve learned that uncertainty is not just loss; it is also possibility. Life pushes us off one track only to open another road. We don’t know what is coming next, but perhaps that’s what makes life expansive and alive.
The second lesson is don’t wait until you succeed to be happy. At MSU, people often leave me kind comments about my smile and the positivity I bring, but I wasn’t born this way. I struggled with mental illness for many years in my early twenties. In society today, young people face enormous pressure. Of course we want success: a good career, relationships, stability. But society’s standards can drown out our inner voices, making us forget what we truly want.
When I opened up about my struggles to other musicians here, I discovered how many had gone through the same thing. We live in a world that praises success but rarely teaches us how to face failure, how to pick ourselves up when broken, how to care for ourselves when nothing feels okay — yet we still need to eat, sleep and keep going. We forget that healing doesn’t always mean things return to how they were. Sometimes it means finding resilience, moving forward and carrying love for us through it all.
The third lesson is that there will be a place for you. It is normal at first to feel out of place or disconnected in a new environment, but I found a community at MSU filled with open, engaged and passionate people. As your focus deepens, your people will come to you through shared activities, common passions and safe spaces of support. You meet colleagues who inspire you and friends who love you not despite your quirks but because of them. It’s like saying, “You are so weird, but I love you exactly for that.”
Finally, music itself has taught me that life is about the present moment. Onstage, we know the temptation to dwell on a missed note or to fear the hard passage coming up. And when we do, we stop enjoying the music — or we fall apart. Staying present is easy to say but hard to do. I still struggle with it. Yet in both music and life, presence is everything. When we meet people, can we put everything aside and truly listen? When we see sunlight, can we pause, breathe deeply and feel grateful simply to be alive?
Perhaps most importantly for all of us at MSU and beyond is this: Always believe in love. Musicians are hopelessly sensitive and romantic, but that is what makes us so beautifully human. May we embrace this fragile beauty fully, without shame, without regret and always in the light of love.