Unsettling

Over a cup of burnt caramel ice cream the other day, I was presented a proposition that continue to bedevil me. This is not new to be sure, but it puts the question so starkly. If we like what we do not know, then can we consider such “like” real? To put it concretely, or mundanely even, if I like Brad Pitt but haven’t known him, then I really only like my own image of him. Is that real at all?

Left behind

Life is surprisingly quite banal. The most cherished or heartbreaking moments alike partake of this odd quality. So in the end, what matters is the kind of feeling you put into it.

Today, I experienced something of this sort, a particular feeling of being left behind. The funny thing is that I was in a good mood today, my protective bubble all strong and sturdy. I was dishing out advice left and right, helping a friend get a job, advising a student on a law school application essay, and what-have-you. A day in the life.

But apparently, my large arsenal of motivational cliches (including a huge amount of religious stuff), isn’t enough to sustain the crazy thoughts of an angsty graduate student. I can almost taste the pity that somebody must have felt towards me as she inquired about my usual routine by the coffee machine this morning. Something about saying “I work mostly in my office all day” made it sound all the more pathetic. The funny thing is that, I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else at this point. Either I am just plain unimaginative or I am just flat out a masochist. Oh, and I forgot that one of the choices is that I must just really like what I do.

Just like that ubiquitous farmer in one of the favorite stories of my former boss, good luck, bad luck, who knows?

Back to the future

 

  I spent three days in DC this week - two of them almost entirely inside the Library of Congress, and one of them just going out and about downtown DC, visiting the National Archives (and finding myself moved upon reflecting on the original Bill of Rights), and also trying to get a leg-up on this symposium essay I have to deliver on the Fifth of November.

I can also say that I am now back to the future, or present. Two days of going through somebody’s stack of 19th century-era papers sometimes leave you also feeling immersed in that era. I did not leave feeling like I want to be a super historian but it made me appreciate more the study of the past, and how the present resembles it in eerie ways sometimes and perhaps this is why we cannot forget history at all times.

Highlights of the trip were:

1. the reading room of the Library of Congress

2. The National Archives and seeing the original “charters of freedom”

3. Eating at Jaleo (one of the signature restaurants of Jose Andres – who, incidentally now teaches The Science of Cooking class here at Harvard)

One of the benefits of being in a different environment is getting new ideas. I did get a new idea for my symposium article, yes the one that I hope to finish in four days so I can show a bunch of people a draft and get what they think on it.

Speaking of getting people’s opinions, I have had quite a busy day yesterday collecting historian opinions on my project. I had a very encouraging talk with a faculty member from the History Department (who is not even on my committee) who told me to “forget trying to cover all bases. Some bases are more important than others.” Finally, a historian who is not obnoxious about disciplinary boundaries. Another golden piece of advice he gave which I think I am doomed not to follow is “never follow your own judgment” on these things. I still think my dissertation is self-evident, and whether or not, its due to my self saturation in the literature is a separate story.

And then, several minutes later, I somehow crossed paths with my supervisor while walking on campus, who at this point of my graduate student career, is already nice enough to acknowledge my existence with a friendly nod. And that’s saying a lot about famous law professors.

Paths people take

As one philosopher said, to be mature is to discard alternatives as you walk along your path. You start out with the world as your oyster and you end up just being one out of many. But it's not as bad as it sounds. I grew up lacking real life models so I turned to a lot of imaginary ones. Saints, literary heroes, dead presidents, and fictional spies all occupied my countless daydreams. Unlike many others, I wasn't born with any plan. I was heir to no fortune and no pedigree. I could be anything I wanted to be. Or at the very least, I could dream.

I muse on this now because after having watched The Social Network this afternoon, it brought back the same kinds of feelings after having watched Batman Begins and the Dark Knight. These movies were all about choosing the paths. Most of the time we choose them, but sometimes, it chooses us. There were many points along the way where I could have chosen one over the other, and like any normal human being, I tried, with much tenacity I must add, to preserve as many options as I could. After all, that's the beauty and magic of youth.

In the end, I chose. I started choosing when I was twenty. Like somebody going through a wardrobe overhaul, I kept sifting through and throwing the old clothes out. New options presented themselves, but were shortly discarded later, until everything slowly shaped up to be what it is right now. I still have choices, sure, but they are not as radically different from each other as they were several years ago.

Perhaps it is not an accident that I am here at Harvard now, on the path to one thing, though it never occurred to me at all to be here doing what I am doing, least of all, complaining (at times) that I've been here long enough or even contemplating the possibilities beyond it. But that comes only with the benefit of hindsight. I did not know then and I could never have planned then. But maybe this is the lesson we need to grasp. The power lies in the choices we make, and in the process, discard some in favor of one or few.

In the end, I am not sure which is harder: making a choice, or living with it.