I'd hate to be that guy who brings his faithful readers - who deserve anything but to return to the grueling college admissions process - back to the grueling college admissions process. But I'm going to be that guy, so hang in there.
The Tufts supplement is a good one (let's ignore the #YOLO strife, please). It's not the best, but it's engaging and thought provoking.
One question that Tufts Admissions poses is "What makes you happy?" It was one that I did not answer last year on account of being miserably through with college applications, but this year, it struck me as compelling. At times, we should all reassess the important - arguably, the most important - emotion that is happiness.
Although on average, I'd estimate that I'm happier now than I have been in the past. Happiness doesn't presently mean to me what it typically has before. And I am afraid to admit that its preoccupying importance is diminishing, albeit slowly and inconsistently. Seeking, discovering and thinking (save this column, maybe ...) about what makes me happy has lost some significance.
I have suddenly become a seemingly passive participant in this human emotion, largely ignoring its onset but reveling in its presence. This unintentional "switcheroo" has posed a question slightly different than that of Tufts Admissions: Why does what makes you happy make you happy? It's like that curious, relentless preschooler who makes his parents question why they had kids in the first place.
The "switcheroo" may be better explained in another way: The sorts of things that make me happy are becoming less important than the sorts of moments that make me happy. Moments of nostalgia, content and anticipation are all generally happiness-inducing. There may be, however, a common theme in that these are all moments of focus and forgetfulness.
In an effort to test such a thought, I spoke with a wise and wild friend of mine from my hometown. We've known each other for as long as I can remember (memory develops around two or three years of age, I've been told) and, for this reason among others, I consider him a quasi-brother.
We spoke late at night, after our minds had given up for the day and our stomachs had finally come to terms with what we had stuffed into them earlier. He shared that what makes him happy, maybe even happiest (but maybe even not), is longboarding, a sport at which he is just about as talented as I am pathetic. You see, not risking permanent bodily damage usually makes me pretty happy.
But my friend loves the risks, with all the speed, freedom and "flow" - whatever that turns out to be. Flow was described to me as a feeling of nothingness, a feeling of pure potential, where nothing is but anything could be, where, while speeding down a hill without thinking, one has a whole repertoire of tricks available to him. I wonder how his mother feels about this.
I enjoyed my friend's analogy. Like the joyful moments that I am lucky enough to experience, my friend loves longboarding at least partly because of the necessary focus and consequent forgetfulness it offers - an escape from hedonistic pleasures, from daily qualms and, as I'm all too aware, from answering your cell phone.
Really, it's a forgetfulness of the importance of anything else. The moments when I'm utterly preoccupied with contentment are where I find happiness. So what sorts of things make me happy? I'm afraid any specificity would be futile. I guess if I applied to Tufts again I wouldn't get in.
Adam Kaminski is a freshman who has yet to declare a major. He can be reached at Adam.Kaminski@tufts.edu.
