Perception is a powerful thing.
It causes us to act against our own best interests and to maximize image over substance. Ask the question—what looks best on a resume, to an employer, to my friends and family or to the world at large? What makes me as good or better than everyone else? How can I look composed when it feels like the Jenga tower of my life is crashing to the ground?
Perception drives us at Duke. I think it is why so many of us feel disillusioned at one point or another in our four years on this campus. Even this column, which has become a refuge for me to process and write, has been an exercise in perception.
In some respects, writing this column has been about self-affirmation, that the views I put out to the public are respected and widely circulated on social media. But this column has never truly been about perception or what I want you to think of me. I wouldn’t have written about my personal conundrums and struggles had I wanted the world to see me as a model edifice of the “Duke student.”
Perception might drive us but it is not what gives life meaning nor is it a reflection of who we fully are, all the frustrations, faults and struggles. If there is one thing I want to communicate today, it’s that perception cannot be what drives us. We can build perception by acting according to what should matter—our values and morals and how we define ourselves—not by how others seek to define us.
Every day we have to work to make that a reality, but living a life guided by that deeper sense of self is far more rewarding and genuine than any Duke-imposed identity ever could offer. The process to move past this identity, in my experience, starts not with the self but with the engagement in the issues, problems and challenges of the lives of others.
To distill it all into a few words, look up and commit to caring about what you see. Whether that’s on this campus in the lives of our friends or across this community and around the world in the lives of others we may never know. That’s what this column has been about for me over the past two years, a personal reminder and a broader call to action. Whether what I spent hours poring over actually resonates with me and others on this campus or at the least causes them to pause and think for a moment.
There was a time I bought into this myth far too heavily that permeates our campus that we have to do the thing that is most impressive or seemingly prestigious. When everyone seems to be heading in one direction driven by personal ambition, no matter how hard you push you’ll inevitably find yourself caught in the rush. It becomes quite easy to look inward to the self more than we dare to look at the lives of those around us and think what could we do for someone else that might not advance our careers or strengthen public opinion but might actually do some good.
Duke has taught me to be selfish. The world around us calls for much the opposite.
Duke has taught me to project a faultless image that must be constantly affirmed. My internal self would much rather be the authentic me in every moment.
The interplay is one we struggle with daily, conversing with friends about how busy we are or reminding everyone on social media how awesome and impressive we continue to be. Rarely do we find opportunities to get past the superficial to thinking about what we can do right now that matters and makes the world and the people who inhabit it a little better for even just a moment.
Listening to a friend as opposed to bludgeoning them with our far more important and demanding concerns. Pausing to learn about a topic or an issue we may have never fully considered or a perspective we’ve never heard. Taking the time to recognize that the privilege and power of this education and the position we inhabit as students here must be used for something other than accruing personal wealth or prestige.
My Duke experience has been made infinitely stronger, more complicated and more meaningful when I finally learned to look up and commit to caring. I believe this campus would be far stronger and more equitable if more of us rejected the notion that perception is self-driven rather than self-created. It’s a subsidiary to the tangible, that which we do and are, the abiding sense of identity and acceptance of self to be fully present, fully engaged and fully committed to something greater than ourselves.
The tagline—hope, for the win—came out of a 2 a.m. message the night before my first column was published, a snap judgment that has increasingly become a life philosophy. I think it summarizes much of what I offered every other week.
I started out at The Chronicle as a sports reporter four years ago, incurring the chagrin of editors when I skirted with deadlines, though not much has changed in that regard in four years. Writing a column became the challenge of applying myself fully to saying something meaningful every other week that might do something more than make me feel important.
If that meant how I was perceived changed, then I could live with the consequences. What mattered was that I put my whole self into these words and committed to using this space for voices and issues that impacted more than just me.
This was my hope, that all these words meant something to someone who took a moment to experience them with me. Perhaps, this was the reality, but I take comfort in knowing that I gave this pursuit my all.
Signing off, forever grateful to the editors and peers who challenged and supported me and to four years I will never forget. Stay strong.
Jay Sullivan is a Trinity senior. This is his final column for The Chronicle.
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