As a spitfire child, I was never not in my mom’s heels. Ultimately, 8-year-old Sadie hated writing, an ironic contrast to my writerly aspirations today. I don’t know how to file my tax returns, I don’t know what ROI means, and I most certainly don’t want to “touch base.”

The historic preppy hideaway of Nantucket is a mere 14 miles in length, but the small island packs a lot of personality. Here’s a humble breakdown from someone who’s spent 20-plus summers observing the people in them. If you don’t post in your island-exclusive Roller Rabbit PJ set, did you even go to ACK?

I am both mortified and proud to share that I am in the top 5% of Beli diners in New York City. Beli takes a passion of mine—eating—and makes it into a competitive sport. At the start of 2026, I made my yearly goals: be healthy, spend time with family, and log 250 new restaurants. My only eating-resolution in 2027 is to become a regular somewhere.

Hey Shitstains, what a whirlwind it has been since we last spoke! Studying abroad felt like a simulation. Harvard is a glorified playground. In the spirit of guiding our class forward, I am pleased to introduce Sadie’s Senior-Year Suggestions. To the Class of 2026: We have one year of childhood left. Let’s play!

Bonjour Friends. Actually, hello. While I arrived at Charles de Gaulle as a girl in an “I Heart NY” tee, I leave as a woman in a beret. Nothing is more humbling than moving to a foreign country by yourself. I went abroad for me. I grew so much because I had the space to learn new things about myself.

Coucou Mes Chéries, ça va? I simply cannot believe my time abroad is ending in a mere two weeks. Complete and utter denial is setting in. The absolute best parts of this experience have been the unplanned, unforeseen moments. Studying abroad has proven that the best moments in life are truly serendipitous.

Hi my little tariffs. It was 72 degrees and sunny in Paris. No work was done. Traveling around Europe is not only doable time-wise, but also financially accessible. I’ve been kissing my sweet Paris goodbye most weekends and hopping aboard EasyJet chariots, city by city, highlights and hell-nos.

When I first came to Paris, I aspired to be a little more Jane Birkin and a little less Emily-in-Paris. A ripe month and eleven days in, someone had broken in. We’d been robbed. The stuff that was stolen is just stuff. I’m still pissed about my borderline-ugly childhood charm bracelet, but I’m safe.

I dreamed of becoming the next insta-travel-baddie. Our wholesome weekend took a turn when we rolled our suitcases right into Amsterdam’s Red Light District and up to the steps of our Airbnb. Always check the neighborhood. As brokers preach: location, location, location.

Greetings from Paris, my home for the rest of the spring. Who in their right mind would trade a HUDS bagel for a €1.50 scorching-hot, rippable, and dippable baguette? I have never felt more challenged—or received a better education—than simply existing in Paris these past two months.