I love when life’s biggest developments hinge on the smallest of coincidences. In 2019, somewhere, somehow, I found a sticker with an alien skateboarding over the word “Nexustentialism.” It was the spring quarter of my freshman year and one of my darker times at UCSB; I was wandering listlessly around questions of the future, I was unpassionate, uninspired and unwell, self-medicating my then undiagnosed depression by steeping my brain in ungodly amounts of Phoebe Bridgers.