Before this semester, I wouldn’t have dreamed of writing about my to-do list. It probably would’ve looked a lot like yours—study for midterm, outline essay (before Tues.—meet with TA?), coffee with Alice, LAUNDRY.
But this semester is my last semester, and now I have time. This is my to-do list now:
I’m going to memorize every single one of Kathy’s songs in the off-Broadway musical "The Next Five Years". I’m not really sure why. As college ends, my vocal career probably will also. But I love this music and it sounds good when I sing it and maybe eventually I will play Kathy and I just really really want to do this.
Then I’m going to read the sequences, a series of articles I stumbled on that are designed to make thought processes more rational. I have no idea if they’ll actually influence my thought patterns or if they’ll ever relate to my life at all, but they excite me, and maybe they’ll change my life.
And I’m going to learn JavaScript—I want to make my websites come alive. Oh, and I’m going to read "Wuthering Heights". Somehow I still haven’t read "Wuthering Heights".
I also think I’m going to learn how to put on makeup really well. Because it’s fun to turn your face into a work of art sometimes, and it’s fascinating how you can make your eye completely change its shape just by shading it. I can’t paint to save my life, so maybe this is the only visual art I’ll ever master. And out of all the things on my list, this will almost definitely be of the most practical relevance to my life, whether I like it or not.
Every day of this semester is exciting and filled with possibility—and, strangely, I’m learning better and deeper than I ever have before.
I keep—why wasn’t my life more like this before?
I was always busy.
I swore I would never write a “we need to stop valuing busyness—stop packing your life with so many activities” article. So this isn’t one. I’m not judgmental of your busyness. I’m skeptical of it.
A few days ago, a friend and I were talking about how for years after you first drink alcohol, especially if you’re timid about it, almost every time you drink, you feel like you’ve discovered what being drunk is really like. You get tipsy and feel a little lightheaded, and you think you’re drunk. And then you discover what it’s like to lose your balance a little, and you realize that what you thought was being drunk was nothing like the real thing. And you keep rediscovering your naïveté every time you have a little more.
Busyness is the same way. All throughout college and high school, I kept thinking I had really discovered what it’s like to be at full capacity, only to learn of how ignorant I had been. I kept falling into a state of stress. I kept triaging my life, only dealing with those things that were the most immediately pressing. And I so rarely needed to.
I’m sorry for that now.
Years ago, one of my high school mentors would always stress the difference between education and training.
She’d delineate the difference by explaining: “training is anything you’d teach a slave.” She didn’t mean “slave” in the traditional sense of the word. She meant anyone you’d want to do your bidding—any position that didn’t necessarily involve creativity or intense critical thinking.
She’d preach about the value of education, about how it made life richer. She’d talk about how, if training taught you how to live productively, education taught you how to live well. She thought that the purpose of college was education, not training.
A number of my fellow seniors and I have lately been bemoaning how little training we have. So few of us feel capable of making a compelling case as to why our skills should be highly valued. As we talked, I realized: I haven’t been receiving training this past few years as much as I’ve been receiving an education. I’ve been given time and resources and encouragement to explore. And I haven’t always used them, caught up as I’ve been in rushing to this meeting and banging out that essay and skimming that paper. I’ve been acting as I would if I were getting trained—not if I were getting educated.
I swore I wouldn’t turn this into an advice column this year, but it’s getting harder and harder as I get older and hopefully wiser. So this time, I’m putting on the senior hat and talking to everyone who still has a lot of time here.
If most things on your to-do list make you feel tired instead of invigorated, something is wrong. You just aren’t that busy. Walk down any road that compels you. You’re receiving an education—you’ve been given the opportunity to explore. You’ll regret it if you don’t embrace it.
Ellie Schaack is a Trinity senior. Her column runs every other Tuesday.
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