I know you literally have 57 finals, 82 papers and 17 projects due next week. I know you literally have 202 performances to attend this weekend. I know there are literally endless hours of sleep that you will forgo in the next month. Literally. I know these things, believe it or not. And my heart has not yet shriveled up with graying age or unsavory bitterness; I truly sympathize, and sometimes empathize, with the existential woe that is associated with undergraduate life. I do. But the completion of a task brings a sense of relief from the miasma of menial work — and hallelujah to that!
After a certain point, though, the life of endless responsibilities and assignments that gives you a day−to−day purpose starts to feel like a half−life. And you know the part of you that believes me is the part that can only enjoy checking off tasks on to−do lists to a certain extent. As rewarding as senses of productivity and accomplishment are, they lack the ability to ascribe a rich texture to life. That which can enrich day−to−day drudgery, though, is an appreciation of culture — of music, art, movies, books or whatever moves you to see gold at the edges of your day.
I don't mean to discredit academia entirely; my time at Tufts has given me purpose and developed in me an intense drive that will propel me to (hypothetical) future success. The skills we learn while at college are invaluable, and I cannot discount that fact. But the old adage stands: Sometimes school gets in the way of your education. In this case, it is the education of your preferences that is unjustly impeded by a ceaseless stream of deadlines and due dates.
Every Tufts student has spent some portion of his or her life testing the waters of taste; feet have dangled dangerously close to an enjoyment of Justin Bieber, but in time have found comfort in areas of culture that better suit their preferences. That being said, once college hits, the time to cultivate these cultural tastes dissipates. When was the last time you gave yourself a moment to breathe, temporarily, and watch a movie by your favorite director? When was the last time you read a book for your own enjoyment (an alien thought, I know, but give it a chance)? When was the last time you listened to your favorite Ruben Studdard album at full volume without shame? Actually, you should probably have a little shame if you're a self−respecting 20−something listening to Ruben, but I can't really address that problem here. That's a challenge that needs a motivated therapist.
Aside from passing judgment on your fictional taste in music, what I really mean to do in writing this column is stress the importance of feeding your love of whatever facets of culture most move you. Don't let the stresses of undergraduate life prevent you from indulging your tastes, because they are an indispensable contributor to your identity. Just as much as your major or future career might define how you are perceived in this world, the poems that you can recite from memory and the art that hangs in your bedroom speak just as loudly about your character. We can find beauty in ourselves and contentment in the content of our heart if we can recognize that that which we love, we are.
So take a minor in taste, instead of economics. Take time to curate your personal canon, because it will remain part of your identity for a longer time than the grade you get in organic chemistry. And, if it so pleases you, play some Ruben. You know you deserve it.
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