“When I grow up, I want to be a commuter,” I joked to a friend as she told me her weekend plans. She laughed and said, “Be careful what you wish for.” But I meant it. In my senior year, nothing sounds more appealing than living off campus.

Do not get me wrong – I am grateful for the endless convenience that comes with living here. I can get from my bed to class in three minutes, pay fake money for lunch right after, and maybe even squeeze in a free yoga class. Everything you could possibly need is within walking distance, but the price of that convenience is burnout.

I live in the same building where I have most of my classes. Going to class means going downstairs. But those same stairs also lead to my meals, my coffee breaks, and my attempts at rest. Even on weekends, when I just want a Spanish latte and a bit of peace, I pass by students working in lounges or get a “How is your capstone going?” in the elevator.

How are we supposed to “leave work at work” when we quite literally live at work? The lack of separation between where we study and where we exist feeds a subtle but constant anxiety. Every hallway feels like an extension of a classroom; every lunch becomes a networking event. You are surrounded by reminders that you could, and maybe should, be doing more. Living on campus might keep you close to opportunity, but it also keeps you close to comparison.

And even when you try to disconnect, the institution is everywhere. “NYU Abu Dhabi on Saadiyat, please,” we tell taxi drivers. Packages go through the mailroom before they reach you. Want to host a friend? In the housing you pay for? Only for four days. Parents cannot afford a hotel? Well, no one is forcing them to visit. It is not malicious – it is management. But when a policy mediates every small act of living, it is hard to feel like an adult, let alone an individual.

It also separates us from the city we supposedly live in. We become residents of Saadiyat rather than of Abu Dhabi. Many students spend four years here without truly experiencing the UAE outside of university-organized events or mall outings, like visitors of the city, watching it from behind ID scanners.

The university encouraged us to “get off campus at least once a week” in the info webinar when we were applicants, but not everyone can. A walk in Umm Al Emarat Park or dinner downtown comes with taxi fares, entry fees, and time most people do not have. Yes, the university provides shuttles, which are widely utilized by community members; however, the current span of them is limited to malls or religious services. Extending these routes to include parks, libraries, and neighborhoods would be a simple but powerful step toward letting students feel part of the city they live in.

Living on campus builds community, yes. But it can also shrink your world. Privacy, work-life balance, and the ability to feel like a full person, not just a student, are essential for well being. No number of free therapy sessions in the Health Center can fix the exhaustion that comes from never being able to truly log off.

So here is my advice, coming from someone who has learned this the hard way: get out. Leave the bubble. Get off Saadiyat. Go to a park. Sit somewhere where nobody cares about your capstone or internship applications. Because outside campus, life still happens – kids still play on the grass patches around the Corniche, uncles sip karak in cafés, people laugh, argue, and live without Google Calendar reminders and Duo 2 Factor Authentication.

The world does not stop at the Welcome Center. And you should not either.