Say ‘no’ to the future

The future starts today!

The future starts with you!

Oh, the places you will go!

I believe that we are the future, that we have been taught well and are ready to lead the way!

One of the above inspirational lines was the graduation day platitude on the congratulatory card your Great Aunt Mildred sent you. You aren’t sure which one it is, as you have not read it, but how creative can a graduation card get?

Great Aunt Mildred never read it either when she picked it out at CVS. You aren’t offended by the lack of personalized well-wishes, though. After all, you never have met your Great Aunt Mildred, and the $14 check was a lovely gesture.  

Anyway, you think to yourself as you toss the unread card into the trash, you have little interest in hearing about the “beginning of the rest of your life,” when all you feel is a sense of finality.  

You think back to your very first day of school—and not college or grad school but bring-a-mat-for-nap-time-school. You think back to your first homework assignment. Your teacher said, “Bring in a red square for class tomorrow.”

Diligent student that you were, you took out your ruler and drew the edges perfectly straight. Individualistic and creative person that you were, you opted for a “Radical Red” Crayola instead of a standard red crayon. Over-achiever that you were, you threw some glitter on it for style points.

Luxuriating in your self-satisfaction, you nonchalantly handed in your square to your teacher, acting as if you didn’t know that this was the very best red square in the class. “Very good! Gold star for you!” your teacher said as she placed what would be the first of many academic accolades on your assignment.

Ah yes, the thrill of victory you felt.

But much to your surprise, your teacher continued. “Tomorrow, class, bring in two blue circles.”

“Wait! There’s more?” you asked. “This whole thing keeps going?”  

Oh yes, very much so.

Those of you who went on to get a Ph.D. in math progressed from drawing that red square to finding its perimeter and area, to rotating it around the y-axis and finding the volume of the resulting 3-D shape, to whatever it is that happens in math classes after calculus.  

Art History majors went on to explain the artistic value of a painting called “Study of a Red Square on White Canvass II.” Fuqua students went on to explain why said painting is worth $30 million in the art market.

Philosophy students went on to ask, “How does one know the square is red? Indeed, who can say what ‘red’ really is?”

Medical school students went on to get rid of that horrible red square on your skin.

Whatever path you happened to take, you climbed from a red square with sparkles to great intellectual heights. It was an arduous journey, and there was never a moment to pause and look back. Always another step—from advanced reading group, to a summer program for gifted students, to AP this, IB that, SATs, ACTs, college, internships, GRE, LSAT, MCAT, med school, law school, Ph.D. program...

At this point you surely have realized and even embraced the idea that there is always going to be that next step. After all, you came to Duke to nurture the evolution of your red square, and you leave Duke prepared to evolve it further.

Your graduation though is not the day to take that red square to the next level. After the ceremony when your Great Uncle Merle asks you what your one-, five- and 20-year plans are, respectfully walk away—that is, of course, if you have already cashed his $14 dollar check.

Allow yourself instead to indulge in memories of a late night in Perkins, an afternoon in the gardens or an early morning caring for patients at the hospital. Go back to all the places you stopped along the way to putting your black polyester robe in 90-degree heat.     

Then allow yourself, if only for a few hours, to luxuriate in self-satisfaction once again for the first time since you handed in that red square on Day One of your education.

Jordan Rice is a Trinity senior. This is his final column. He would like to offer his most sincere thanks first to the staff who somehow puts this paper together every single day, and second to the 11 people who read all the way to the bottom of one of his columns over the past three years.