We're all a bunch'a amatuers

The other day a professor confided in me something which confirmed one of my most frequent suspicions about Western society: “There are plenty of people with degrees, but almost no one who is smart.” As pompous as this may sound, I think my professor brings up a valid point. 

Much like Aldous Huxley’s warning in his novel “A Brave New World,” about a future of mindless hedonists who seek nothing but the day’s next pleasure, I have been increasingly aware of my inner battle and the battle fought by students all around me, between education and entertainment.  

This though has been made obvious to me over the past few weeks, when I made the choice to not only participate in “No-Shave-November,” but also a month-long bodily cleanse. Partaking in a month of complete sobriety has cleared my mind in ways I haven’t experienced in months. And with clarity, has come an epiphany about my existence as a college student.     

Choosing to study each weekend instead of going out, has been rewarding in my quest for centeredness but dreadfully painful in my ability to maintain social relationships. It’s as if remaining completely sober (while encouraged all around campus) appears odd to most students. True, I could just pick a path of moderation and exercise self-control, but I’ve always been a man of extremes. 

On to that epiphany… At a fundamental level, Western education drops students into an endless struggle between metaphysical and material gain. We pursue education in order to fulfill our thirst for knowledge but societal pressures urge us to go forth and make loads of cash with it; something that has never quite sat easily with me.

 I would like to someday become a college professor but if I had another choice, I would drop out of college, travel the world, join a Buddhist monastery for several years and live in a yurt until the day I die.  No, I’m not joking.

I’ve always believed that the more material things you seek, the more dissatisfied you are with yourself. Thus, the life of a vagabond has always held greater appeal than anything drugs, sex or rock n’ roll could offer. “Tramping around” as some call it, would allow me to see the world, abandon fanatic consumerism and, although difficult to abide by, would give my life a higher level of meaning. This might leave you asking why I bother with college, or more specifically, why in the world do I write a column for Arts and Entertainment?  Frankly, I’m not entirely sure. 

College provides an opportunity to seek out what I’ve always wanted to learn and meet people who are (hopefully) just as passionate about understanding and helping the human condition. But at times, it feels arduous and devoid of reason.  I am a complete nerd, but what’s odd is that from the perspectives of the nerdier people I know, I’m a slacker.  And from the perspectives of the more party-oriented people I know, I’m a social anomaly.  I’ve been eternally labeled as the “grey area” between work and play.     
The reason for this is that education has always been the section of work that, for me, is play.  To admit this is practically social suicide today, but why?  Why should anyone be ashamed for wanting to get the most out of their education?      

In the past, things were more rigorous and less flexible; as my professor put it, “it was a skill-based system.”  There seemed to be more people who could read and write critically, but didn’t need those skills as long as they could prove their degrees were hard earned.  Rules have since slackened and the direction of encouragement has turned slightly ambiguous. We’re expected to make a difference, but we’re not always told how or why.     

College in an age of faster technology, political correctness and mass-entertainment has become a rigorous machine that pumps out half-enthused, distracted students who have no idea what they want to do with their life when they leave four years later. At the heart of this paradox, is the “what if I die tomorrow?” mentality that seems to run rampant across college campuses throughout the county.  

Maybe my friend Anna Land is right. I’m falling victim to perceptual norms and there are, in fact, far more serious students than party animals at Keene.  She said we tend to remember the extreme drunks and forget the quiet folks.  But now that I’ve assimilated into one of the quiet folks (at least for November) I can only hope I’m not so easily forgotten.

Kevin Malicki can be contacted at kmalicki@keeneequinox.com