If a plant biologist takes an electrical engineer backpacking …
Our paths first aligned beneath the stark stadium lights of a New York track meet. A senior and a freshman at neighboring high schools, we occupied different lanes and parallel lives, completely unaware of one another.
Ten years later, Will Dwyer and I sat next to each other as Knight-Hennessy scholars, eating falafel and hummus on the Denning House deck. Conversation flowed, laughter resonated, and an invisible thread began to form between two unlikely friends.
As an electrical engineer, certainty defines my world: I thrive in binaries and find comfort in precision and clarity. Will, a plant biologist, flourishes in nature's uncertainty. Over time, our friendship evolved into an exploration of one of humanity's most essential questions: What happens when you genuinely engage with someone whose entire framework for understanding the world is dramatically different from your own?
This summer, our friendship led us to Glacier National Park for my first backpacking trip. As a seasoned explorer, Will took me under his wing and prepared me for a realm defined by unpredictability and ambiguity. He carefully assembled his precious gear for me to borrow — tangible symbols of the trust that would carry us through windy avalanche ascents and the hairpin curves of Going-to-the-Sun Road.
Each step into this wilderness represented a step away from certainty, a step away from my comfort zone. We sang loudly into endless forests, echoing "Anxiety" by Doechii, a scare tactic for wandering bears and an ironic solace for my own hesitant heart. The same notes Will and I once shared at Stanford’s Frost Amphitheater reverberated differently as we hiked beneath soaring pines.
Our days followed a simple routine: preparing meals over portable stoves, bathing in bone-chilling streams, and capturing fleeting moments in photographs. The night brought wilderness sounds through our thin tent walls — rustling leaves, distant howls, and the whisper of wind carrying secrets between moonlit lakes. Surrounded by the uncertainty of wildlife moving near us unseen, I confronted my inherent need for control. The engineer in me sought to identify these unknown variables, in hope of defining clear boundaries between safety and danger. The curious, stubborn parts of me were learning that life's richest experiences often emerge from a willingness to live and exist through the unknown.
Will jokes that I am catalytic — an enzyme of sorts that reduces the activation energy threshold for dreams that might otherwise remain forever in the realm of possibility. He admires my consistent hustle, the way I create routes when none seem to exist. On our final evening, we discovered a trail to Avalanche Lake that promised breathtaking views. Will sighed as he realized it would be impossible to hike it, given our morning flight home. But I saw only logistics to be conquered: How long is the hike? How far is the airport? How fast can we pack our tents? What time would we need to wake up to make it all happen? Working backward from our constraints, I mapped a dawn adventure that became what Will describes as the most beautiful place we experienced — a memory that exists because I refused to let wonder be defeated by practicality. Our friendship thrives on this reciprocal exchange, where learning flows in both directions: His spontaneity teaches me to relinquish control, and my determination ensures we don't just dream, but do.
We understand our bond through the languages of our respective scientific fields. I see neural networks learning to communicate, their weights shifting with each interaction until they develop a shared vocabulary. Will envisions cellular symbiosis — organisms discovering how to live within one another, each transformed by the relationship while preserving their essential nature. Both metaphors illuminate the same profound truth: We have created something neither could build alone, a friendship that requires each of us to surrender and gain something in the process. Will and I are very different people who, at times, misunderstand one another. Yet, we chose to see and celebrate each other in the ways we each feel valued, even when those gestures go against our natural instincts.
Over time, trust became our bridge across the chasm of difference. For me, that meant strapping on borrowed gear and blindly following Will into Glacier's wilderness. I left behind my color-coded spreadsheets and embarked on an intentionally unscripted journey where permits fell through and trailheads closed unexpectedly — a leap that would have paralyzed the version of myself who creates backup plans for backup plans. For Will, it meant stepping into my world by agreeing to be interviewed for the Imagine A World podcast, trusting that I would handle his vulnerability with care. These were not small gestures. They were acts of profound courage, invitations to enter each other's most native territories guided by someone who understood the terrain.
The unexpected wonder is not lost on us. As Will puts it, a college athlete and plant cell biologist from France and a brain-computer interface researcher raised by an immigrant from El Salvador and a Black military kid probably would not have crossed paths without Knight-Hennessy. Even now, living in the same campus residence, we would likely pass and ignore each other in the elevator, remaining strangers with parallel lives that never intersected. Instead, those New York nights as teenagers became the beginning of a story about what becomes possible when we dare to step outside the lanes we are assigned.
As PhD students, we are trained to become experts in narrow fields. Yet, our most meaningful discoveries often occur when we broaden our perspectives beyond our respective academic silos. Being friends with Will has shown me the quiet revelation of finding someone who softly nudges you toward your best self, someone who strips away pretense and performance, revealing the overlooked beauty of authentic connection.
Those nights in Glacier, sleeping beneath the stars far from failed experiments and buggy code, reminded us that the capacity for wonder and connection transcends any specialized knowledge we might possess. In a world that sorts us into ever-narrower categories — academic disciplines, professional networks, algorithmic feeds that show us endless variations of what we already believe — our friendship offers proof of a radically different possibility.
The most transformative ideas will not emerge from echo chambers but from deep engagement with fundamentally different ways of thinking and being. When we resist the seductive pull of conformity and instead cultivate curiosity about alternative frameworks, we develop the mental agility necessary to challenge assumptions, question inherited wisdom, and forge new paths.
Sydney Hunt (2023 cohort) is pursuing a PhD in electrical engineering with a focus on brain-computer interfaces at Stanford School of Engineering. An aspiring professor, Sydney is passionate about STEM retention. She serves as a Knight-Hennessy Scholar Ambassador, on the Knight-Hennessy Scholar Experience Committee, and as the Young Trustee on the Duke University Board of Trustees.
Knight-Hennessy scholars represent a vast array of cultures, perspectives, and experiences. While we as an organization are committed to elevating their voices, the views expressed are those of the scholars, and not necessarily those of KHS.
