If the clothes make the man, consider me a pinup for fits and starts. I spent two years in Dress Whites as a Midshipman at the US Naval Academy. While there, a lot of my time was devoted to eating meals at attention and convincing girls in town that they had “lost that loving feeling.” Despite the toll it would take on my bizarre social agenda, I decided to take off the uniform for the final time in 2006.

The dark suit of an American missionary in Borneo then became my screen against the equatorial sun, my sweat rag and a walking invitation to armed robbery. And even though for two straight years abroad I maintained a busy schedule of preaching, learning obscure languages and trying not to stare at breastfeeding natives, I managed to apply and get accepted to study philosophy in the College of Arts and Sciences at our fair Cornell.

Now, if you care to look, you’ll find me at Goldwin Smith in jeans, one of several welcome-home sweaters and what I am sure will one day become a very serious beard.

I introduce myself — along with my eclectic wardrobe — only to explain the column that will be coming at you this fall. You see, it has been my feeling in all of these locales, wearing so many different clothes, that the maxim that we “learn through experience” could hardly be more banal and more invoked by the people who lead us and shape our ideas. It is as if by magic the lessons of self, maturity and modernity might simply distill upon our minds after — and because of — an event.

Well, I don’t believe in magic, and it’s time I get to the following point: In order for me to learn anything from the Navy, I had to be hell-bent on not only “making my bed real neat,” but on considering such a task’s place in the schema of warrior training. Better still, if I was intent on discovering how I felt about war, my country and the vigorous life of the body, then I needed to seek out and carefully consider all the tiny experiences of hardship, brutality and patriotic fervor that might apply. I did, and now I know.

Similarly, to the extent I wanted to discover the true meaning of faith, love and the divine in my life, I needed to both look heavenward and experience life in the mission field. I did, and now I know.

When I arrived in Ithaca last fall as a 22-year-old junior, I didn’t know what cosmic questions I wanted answered during my time at Cornell. Something about orientation — probably the icebreaker games and solicitations to buy booze — told me that without effort I would learn little aside from the usual undergraduate fare if I wasn’t careful. I might get turned around in Collegetown, take two years to get my bearings and then graduate. And then I figured it out.

To my naval officer and missionary selves, the squabbles and foibles of the political scene forced the sad conclusion that confusion and self-interest reign in America. Thanks to Obama and McCain (and their tragic picks for VP), I had politics on the brain, — and not just the Blue vs. Red, unctuous pollster, mindless staffer, $400 haircut kind. To learn politics — taken here as the nexus of beliefs and interests — is Cornell’s clarion call to me.

I started by learning through opposites — my favorite way. I pitted Coulter against Franken, Berube against Goldberg and Buckley against, well, nobody … Then I fashioned a set of experiences to learn through. I ran a couple of campaigns and was elected to the Educational Policy Committee and Academic Integrity Hearing Board. I attended some rehashings of the Straight Takeover, one of which was held by some wackos in town who I believe would like to rename a bit of armed theater, “The Glorious Revolution.” Most of all, I followed the news of a gay peer removed from fraternity leadership and the community’s frantic, blubbering response.

It would be just plain boring for me to dive back into these fiascos. So much idiocy, so far removed, so churned over. No worries, though. I’m sure we will have loads to talk about this year. The din of campus life is made loud by speakers, administrators, columnists and the cast of Miami Social (read: the Student Assembly). I hope you’ll write in with what you take to be the punctuating events and fresh perspectives of this year at Cornell. By year’s end, we’ll be able to say who did and who didn’t, who knows and who is dazzling himself into authority with the magic of vague, unanalyzed experience.

Andrew Daines is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He may be reached at adaines@cornellsun.com. The Right Stuff appears alternate Fridays this semester.