This is not a story. This is a collection of meandering experiences written in response to Kathleen Mayer's recent post on Dartblog ("A Friend Who Became a Brother," March 30). The views that follow are my own. They do not belong to an organization. Because I am me. Just like you.
I knew a boy who wanted to mark himself as something special. He wanted people to watch him walk down the street, draped in Louis Vuitton, and gasp he wanted to be rich. And so he decided that he'd work very hard in college and get a job at a big bank and work real hard there and get a lot of money. That's what he did. Today, he is so invested in Wall Street and in himself that he cannot invest in others. I miss him.
I knew a girl who wanted to change the world. She wanted her work to better the lives of those less fortunate. She just wanted to help. And so she decided that she'd learn all about the ills of the world and join the Peace Corps and do activist things and whatnot and save everybody. Today, she is so invested in propaganda and unverifiable, unreasonable simplifications of the world's largest and most complicated problems that she needs glasses. I miss her.
I knew a boy who wanted to be a campus celebrity. He wanted to walk into Collis and know everybody. He wanted to get next on any table on campus. He wanted to run this place. And so he decided that he'd pledge a really cool house and act like a frat star and hook up with a bunch of girls and drink a ton and do a bunch of drugs and be hot shit. Today, he is such a disgusting absence of authenticity that I do not think that anyone calls him a friend. I miss him.
I knew a girl who wanted to be a campus celebrity. She wanted to walk into Collis and know everybody. She wanted all the boys to want her and all the girls to love her. She wanted to run this place. And so she decided that she'd pledge a very sweet house and act like a diva and hook up with a bunch of boys and drink a ton and do a bunch of drugs and be hot shit. Today, she is a disgusting absence of authenticity that I do not think that anyone calls her a friend. I miss her.
I knew a boy who wanted to find a place where he could be himself on campus. He didn't have many friends. He was a loner. He didn't know where to find people. He didn't know who he was. And so he decided that he'd pledge a house on a whim and hope that they were cool and drop out if they weren't and hopefully find some friends. Today, he is one of the most respected, admired and genuinely loved people on campus. I like him.
I knew a girl who wanted to find some friends that weren't super catty and mean. She had a bunch freshman year, but they were all kind of superficial. They cared about boys and what other people thought of them way too much for this girl. And so she decided to pledge a house and hope that they were chill and drop out if they weren't and hopefully find some real friends. Today, she is one of the happiest and most comfortable people on campus. I like her.
Groups are great. It is hard to have a conversation without them. Unfortunately, any corporation has a line. Sometimes, when you aren't strong enough, you grab onto it. And you hold on. Because otherwise, you are going to drown. And really, nobody wants to drown. It's probably worse than being lit on fire. Then, at least, you are just burning too bright.
There are a lot of fish bowls in the world. Some of them are big, and some of them are small. Some of them cover a bunch of the planet. Some of them cover most of a night stand. We are not in one of the bigger ones right now. This is really pretty pedestrian. I walk most places. In our context here, it is pretty silly to grab on to a corporate line. And even when you do, it's really not a great way to get out of our fish bowl. Getting above it, all the fish look like small dots. It's a cool view. You feel like you're on top. But then you're bound for the frying pan, and that's really unfortunate. Plus, you're a fish. What the hell do you need a line for?
