Continuing from two weeks ago, decent people send thank-you notes. They have a sense of adventure — they’ll try the weird sushi. Good people drop loose change in charity jars. They put the milk back in the fridge, and they don’t drink from the carton. Good people plan for the future, but are willing to alter their plans. I’ll explain.
Everyone needs some sort of plan, and there’s nothing wrong with being ambitious. There’s certainly nothing wrong with aiming high. I think we run into trouble, however, when we ignore new passions in our lives and refuse to change our goals accordingly. For instance, if you’ve wanted to be a doctor your entire life, but suddenly realize you’re a fantastic artist, you’re doing yourself a disservice if you ignore your talent. If you think you could write the great American novel but go to law school because you’re afraid of being poor, you’ve cheated yourself (and everyone else).
What I mean is this: a good person substitutes his puerile, non-specific fantasies of wealth and fame for a more mature desire to chase passion, not pension. To this end, college is very helpful.
In 2005, I attended a speech by Dennis Prager, a conservative talk-radio celebrity not as famous as Rush Limbaugh, but a bit more dangerous. He’s like a passive-aggressive Socrates sired by Rick Santorum. He’s anti-choice, pro-gun and anti-gay marriage, and most recently he’s the man who suggested that Rep. Keith Ellison’s (D-MN) swearing into Congress on a Koran would allow for future politicians to be sworn in on Mein Kampf.
But among Dennis Prager’s minor theses is the idea that the American public school system — especially high school — teaches our youths to grow up as focused on their future, and it’s the private university system that leads Americans to stray from what I’ll call the “doctor-lawyer” track.
Prager says all this as a warning — but I find the liberal brainwashing I’ve experienced here to be useful, not apocalyptic. I’ve found pursuable interests that excite me … not my accountant. Call it Stockholm Syndrome.
I believe a good (brain-cleaned) Cornellian has changed his mind about what he wants from life; he’s grown up and has found a genuine interest beyond paychecks. A bad Cornellian still thinks like an 18 year-old. He’s going to be that hot-shot lawyer or doctor, not because he wants to be one, but because he’s afraid to explore something new. Let me exaggerate for effect:
The Bad Cornellian’s To-Do List
1. I want to be a famous something.
2. I want to have lots of money, and cars, and I’m going to live out my failed athletic aspirations through my crying children.
3. I want to be on a coin that people use.
4. I want to be so wrapped up in my own world of literary theories and biomedical research that dumbing myself down becomes impossible, and I barely speak English anymore. Two plus two? Two plus two what!?
5. I want to be really “in” with the world’s most famous actors and musicians, and I want to receive a lifetime achievement award from them, ending my acceptance speech with, “OK, now you entertain me for a change!”
6. I want to marry the kind of woman drag queens idolize.
Do you know anyone who actually has similar life goals? Do any of these dreams match your current ones? If any came close, take a break from the GRE and the LSAT to rethink where you want to be a few years from now because whether you think so or not, you are not the same person you were in high school, nor should you be. If you are, have your parents call Day Hall to demand a refund. I mention all of this because I worry that Dennis Prager is wrong. For too many people, it seems, Cornell has failed to reverse the me-me-me values that were ingrained in our 15-18 year-old minds.
This all reminds of how I felt at 17, listening to my friends talk about where they got into college, Early Decision. At that point in my life — when I was certain that my essay to Brown must have screamed “leper” — I felt extremely inadequate for not having clear future plans.
But now, just four years later, having grown up a bit, I realize that high school fantasies of success — the jets, the women, the fame — are worthless and prevent us from enjoying the present. I’ve long-since abandoned my teenage dreams of wealth and power and my new plans for the future are warm and sincere, not cash-laden and impersonal. Money would be nice, of course, but my new dreams are cozy and feasible.
Again, there’s nothing wrong with being driven, but if you have the same dreams as an 18 year-old, you should reexamine those fantasies to make sure they’re still genuine. If you have the dreams of a five year-old — I wanted to be a whale trainer but my Hebrew teacher said I couldn’t swim with glasses — if you still have that dream and really want to be that whale trainer (or go to law school, even), please do it. Don’t stop pushing. Don’t ever stop pushing. Just make sure it’s what you want, not what you used to want.
Let’s shake off our misinformed, self-destructive high school mentalities. Let’s set realistic and personal goals. Let’s explore unprofitable interests and see what happens. Let’s make a Good Cornellian’s To-Do List and fill it with small, achievable, personal ambitions. I can’t believe I’m typing this, but let’s prove Dennis Prager right.
Noah Hy Brozinsky is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at nbrozinsky@cornellsun.com. Walk Emily Home appears alternate Wednesdays.