Methuselah reflects upon what he learned in college

When I attended my first college class, Franklin Pierce was President, and though we didn’t… When I attended my first college class, Franklin Pierce was President, and though we didn’t know it at the time, the War of Northern Aggression would soon tear this country apart. The West was a vast, unknown quantity, filled with dragons; the aeroplane and telegraph had not yet united our shores. Paris Hilton was not even a gleam in some mad scientist’s eye.

The Compromise of 1850 and the horrors of “bleeding Kansas” reminded us all that we were cursed and blessed to live in interesting times. Everywhere, things were happening — big things — and we looked forward to them with the heavy-handed idealism and/or starry-eyed indifference of youth. Looking at my daguerreotype album, it’s hard to believe we were ever so young.

Now, of course, everything and nothing has changed. We still live in interesting times, with our American eagle once again flexing its claws around the world. The country is as politically divided as it has ever been. Human knowledge is doubling at an unprecedented rate; religious fundamentalism is at an all-time high. Science tells us we may be poisoning our nest; business reminds us that these SUVs aren’t going to buy themselves. The present pulled tight between the future and the past.

This tension is nothing new. While history is written by the winners, the future is written by us all, and as someone who’s lived, like, a thousand years, I can tell you that the future is never born(e) easily. It’s a heavy responsibility to bear, but also a great power. Tomorrow is not yet written; we hold the pen. As media theorist Marshall McLuhan put it, “Nothing is inevitable — if we pay attention.”

As college students, the best and the brightest the world has to offer, our responsibility to the future is that much greater, our attention that much more important. We have to pay attention to the things no one else notices, answer the questions no one else thinks to ask, make real the vision no one else sees.

Start by finding people who are passionate. Even if you don’t understand their interest, their spirit will rub off on you. People who care see the world differently — hang around them long enough, and your vision will change as well. You’ll gain a new perspective, start seeing possibilities instead of limitations. Your capacity for empathy will be increased.

And if you’re passionate about a girl you’ve never met, don’t try to get her attention by printing T-shirts with her face on them and selling them to your friends. You might think that’s “creative,” but others will call it, “creepy.” Just talk to her, you stupid manchild.

That’s actually more of a note to myself, but it underscores the fact that, to meet passionate people, you’ll first have to meet a lot of people. In college, you will meet some of the stupidest people you’ve ever known — and some of the smartest. Some of the most innovative, and the most dogmatic. You’ll meet a lot of them, and the most interesting ones will sneak up on you, or you’ll find them in places you never thought to look. Your most interesting thoughts will be written in the margins of notebooks; your most interesting friends will crop up in the margins of your life. Refocus when you need to; keep an eye on the margins. Don’t be afraid to explore them.

That goes for your academic career as well. Even if you’re just here to get a degree and move on, take advantage of the unique possibilities college offers. For all the triteness of that phrase, “well-rounded,” it’s worthwhile to take classes with people who don’t think like you. If you’re a leisure studies major like me, take some classes with engineers. Learn how engineering can be applied to leisure studies, and vice-versa. When you can think in new ways, you can take in more of the world, and cultivate, in theologian William F. May’s words, an “openness to the unbidden.”

Mostly, though, have some fun. Fun is an incredibly underrated commodity these days. But the world is a bizarre, absurd, fun place — a Kafkaesque amusement park, without the long lines. So do all the things you want, while realizing you’ll never have the time to do all the things you want. That’s OK, though, because no one does. You do as much as you can, then you decide to be happy. Fast or slow, the clock only moves forward. And now, finally, so quickly, I am out of time.

Jesse Hicks may or may not be a fictional character living at www.jessehicks.com. E-mail him at jhicks@pittnews.com.