In the perfect combination of grace, agility and exhilaration, 20-year-old Alysa Liu stunned in the recent 2026 Olympics. In a whirl of gold and stripes, she secured the gold for America in the Olympic figure skating free skate, the first American woman to do so since 2002. Article after article raves about the Olympian’s momentous return to figure skating after her early and unexpected retirement in 2022, many attributing her seemingly effortless and mesmerizing performance to the noticeable joy with which she skates.
When asked about her new approach to skating, Liu contrasts the new conditions of her skating environment, in which she can choose things like what music she dances to and what she eats, with her old one, which was governed entirely by her father and instructors. She talks about how she regulates her practice and decides what is too much and what is not enough. All of this reflects a transformation from an athlete who found success through pressure and expectation to an artist who finds the same success through joy and love for her sport. In many ways, these rave reviews are to be expected. Liu’s rebound has been incredible, and her story is so influential — it makes viewers imagine what their lives might look like if they pursue success through joy.
As I read through all of the articles, I began to wonder whether a more valuable lesson might be to imagine what life might look like if we pursued what we wanted without joy. It wasn’t hard to do so. In the past month, the air has been heavy with the anxiety of friends and classmates around me worrying about summer research and internships. More often than not, friends wearily decline offers to hang out, their work an exhausting, Sisyphean effort. I feel an all-too-familiar irritation as I overhear people proudly competing for the chance to announce that they had the least sleep or free time. In other moments, a feeling of disappointment washes over me as friends tell me they feel guilty for having too much free time. This combination of gratification in sacrificing our quality of life and shame in not doing so has become the norm.
One phrase, from Herbert Marcuse’s One-Dimensional Man, that’s been stuck in my mind is “euphoria in unhappiness.” What a stark contrast there is between praising someone like Alysa Liu and finding euphoria in unhappiness. What Alysa Liu’s comeback really teaches us is to reevaluate how we define success. Liu was an Olympian in 2022, and she is again, despite her early retirement. Being an Olympian at 16 seems like an achievement anyone would die for. At that time, she found success without joy in her sport. But recently, her accomplishments were achieved through genuine enjoyment. Even as an audience member, it was clear which path was the better route to success. Her performance was electric and her interviews seemingly devoid of the regular ominous trepidation athletes commonly display before a competition. What underlies the plethora of articles about Liu’s mindset is the idea that life is to be experienced through joy and a genuine desire to pursue success, not through deprivation and resentment.
For Wellesley students, this may be easier said than done. The atmosphere of stress and busyness that permeates campus has become the status quo. The great thing, however, is that it doesn’t have to be. Though it is hard to separate yourself from the anxious buzz, it is possible. Reexamining what your priorities are can be one way to start. Achieving a gold medal wasn’t Alysa Liu’s goal; when asked what she wanted from the Olympics, she simply said that she wanted a good performance and to inspire feelings in the audience. This goes hand-in-hand with realizing the value intrinsic to each individual beyond their achievements. The secret to Alysa Liu’s success seems to be this separation between measured achievement and who she is as a person. Her retirement gave her a chance for self-discovery and growth beyond her achievements as an athlete.
Another way to ascend to an Alysa Liu-level of peace is to realize that happiness is highly dependent on collective effort. Stress and exhaustion shouldn’t be competitions, and success isn’t achieved by individuals. If we realize the power of community to uplift and support individuals, we can find success through happiness. What Alysa Liu’s journey teaches us is that it is possible to have both peace and success — the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Moreover, she reveals that it’s never too late to really believe you can have both.
Contact the editors responsible for this article: Caitlin Donovan, Avery Finley
