Every winter quarter, something shifts in the air. The days grow shorter, the mornings turn colder and motivation feels just out of reach. There’s a heaviness that settles, not dramatic enough to name, but present enough to feel. This year, I found myself coping unexpectedly by replaying “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus.
What once felt like silly lyrics I yelled when I was six years old now feel like a personal anthem throughout my college years. The lyrics about uphill battles, uncertainty and “keeping the faith” land in a way they never did before. As a college student pushing through burnout, internship applications, imposter syndrome and the quiet pressure of starting another year, the metaphor “there’s always gonna be another mountain” feels almost too accurate. Some days in the winter quarter feel less like progress and more like endurance.
The weight of winter feels different when you’re navigating something no one in your family has experienced before. As the first in my family to attend a university, I often feel like I’m climbing without a map. No one talks about the students whose parents never pressured them into a specific career path; they simply trusted you. It’s an unbearably heavy feeling to hold that kind of trust. There’s freedom in it, but there’s also responsibility. You don’t just want to succeed for yourself; you want to honor the faith they placed in you.
The song’s most powerful message isn’t about reaching the peak; it’s about surviving the climb. That shift in perspective matters. In college, especially as a first-generation student, it can feel like everything is measured by milestones happening at double speed: GPAs, internships, leadership roles, networking events and LinkedIn updates. There is always another summit to chase.
But winter has a way of making everything feel stalled. You start questioning whether you’re actually moving forward at all.
Listening to “The Climb” reminds me that growth isn’t always visible. Sometimes growth is quieter. It looks like showing up to class when you’d rather stay in bed. It looks like submitting the application even when you’re scared of rejection. It looks like trying again. Rewatching Hannah Montana feels different now, too. As a kid, the double-life storyline felt like every girl’s dream: the regular girl by day, pop star by night. Now, I see something else in it. I see the tension of navigating two worlds at once.
As a first-generation college student from a tight-knit Mexican American family, I understand that split identity in a new way. There’s the version of me in lecture halls, internships and professional spaces, learning how to speak the language of networking and career ambition. And then there’s the version of me grounded in family, culture and home where success isn’t measured in LinkedIn updates but in loyalty, resilience and responsibility. Moving between those spaces can feel like code-switching, not just in language but in identity.
The climb, for me, isn’t just academic. It’s emotional. It’s cultural. It’s about learning how to hold both versions of myself without feeling like I have to abandon one to succeed in the other. With this being the Year of the Horse, a symbol of growth, opportunity and forward momentum, I find the timing meaningful. The horse represents endurance and strength, not just speed. That symbolism pairs perfectly with the song’s message. Forward movement doesn’t always look like big wins or loud celebrations. Sometimes it looks like persistence. Sometimes it looks like winter.
“The Climb” reminds me that the struggle itself is not evidence of failure. It’s evidence that I’m still moving, even when progress feels invisible, even when the season feels stagnant, even when I question whether I belong. The peak will come eventually. But right now, I’m learning to find purpose in the uphill steps.
Because it was never “about how fast I’ll get there,” and it was never “about what’s waiting on the other side.” Change is scary, but so is staying the same.
And maybe that’s the point.