Stranded on campus during Fall Break, I decided to finally take a stroll in the Sarah P. Duke Gardens. For the first time in a while, I had time to spare.
This got me thinking: Already half way through the semester, I had not achieved half of the things I had set out to achieve. In today’s world, it can be difficult to help but feel like time is always running out. As when water is escaping a strainer, we desperately try to plug the little holes that are seconds, minutes, hours, but time still finds a way to pass through, leaving us exhausted and unsatisfied.
Although this feeling is greatly emphasized by today’s hyperactive, hyper-efficient, hyper-everything society, men throughout the ages have felt a similar remorse with the passing of time. Ever since the earliest civilizations — Ancient Egypt, Greece, Mesopotamia — there has been a universal need to believe in life after death. In other words, our one life on Earth has never been enough for most people. Although we may feel superior to these ancient civilizations, the stark reality is that even after thousands of years we think and act just about the same.
On a smaller scale, consider this: Few feelings are worse for a child than counting the remaining days of summer break on the calendar that hangs in the kitchen and seeing that the once abundant squares now amount to a meager handful. Yet, what’s worse, reflecting back, is realizing that yet another long summer was squandered in idleness.
Even worse, however, is having that feeling perpetuated by acknowledging the years that have passed in one's adult life — accepting one’s inevitable aging is an even more burdensome task.
This truth is one that ties us all more closely than we might realize. It is ingrained in our culture. I see it in the jars of anti-wrinkle creams sold in stores, in our fascination at the trunk of a 400-year-old tree, in our belief in heaven (or a concept equivalent to it), in teenagers’ preaching of #YOLO as they enter dangerous situations because life is too short, go live it, it’ll be over before you know it.
However, this leads to a problem: We find ourselves torn between wanting to maximize both our current enjoyment and our future output, yet we feel as though we don’t have time for it all.
I’ll present to you, then, a solution. What if, instead, we lived a life that in its brevity was fulfilling and left us satisfied? This solution denies our tendency to take everything to the extreme as we attempt to conserve the past, squander the present and prepare for the future, all at the same time.
For us students, this consideration applies in this way: the potential self-growth of today should not be diminished by our grieving the time that has already passed or neglected as we fear that the time we have left will pass before we know it.
I’ll tell you something you’ve heard before: The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now. While this quote could be misinterpreted as an accusation of sorts, in reality, it offers us a sense of hope: In 20 years, we’ll surely reap the fruits of today’s labor. This mindset is an essential one for college students — it has us shift into a sort of craving to invest in ourselves for our future selves’ sake.
As Duke students, one of the most productive investments we can partake in is some sacrifice of leisure to be channeled into our learning, our interests and our relationships.
This is because self-growth initiatives quickly become beneficial to us in the long run. Whether one is learning a new language, fulfilling fitness goals or learning to be an adult without the training wheels, these skills — as seeds, if planted early — can be elemental in this long-term success.
Then, the offering of “seeds” in this relatively short life is comparatively massive — we should be constantly learning. The extent of our knowledge should feel quite small — the gaps even more evident — as college freshmen. But, the sad reality is that students tend to think of themselves as only that — students. After fulfilling their duties by going to class and maybe completing the homework assignment, that is where the learning stops. (If only students monitored their daily intake of knowledge as strictly as they do their intake of protein, what a different world we would live in!)
I had never understood the “Hungry for More?” prompts on my high school textbooks. Now, I understand. As my garden of knowledge widens and deepens, the young and fruitful soil begs for more seeds to nourish.
Interests, similarly, should be cultivated with eagerness. We, as Duke students, will likely never again be in a situation that offers us this much variety and access to a near infinite range of opportunity. We could be doing anything: you name it. From research in neuroscience, to volunteering with local food banks, to picking fresh basil at the Duke Farm, there is something for everyone — and if there isn’t, something new can be created.
Even with this variety of choice, I would bet that most freshmen have stretched their search far and wide (to the Club Fair and maybe a couple of organizations that put stands outside of Marketplace) and have floated through this first half of the semester content with having joined a club or two. While I can’t speak better for myself, I can recognize the fault in this: We will regret this shortcoming in a few years.
People, as seeds, also have to be cared for and relationships nurtured. As we roll into routine this second half of the fall semester, we must not let ourselves simply be satisfied with the group of friends we’ve made so far, the professors we’ve met up with, the number of smiles we’ve shared with strangers as we pass them on the sidewalk. We should want more. If this theory is not extrapolated to the point of social exhaustion, then it can lead to more opportunities, more connections, more support.
Then, this ideology gives us a clear course of action: We must hunt for our new year’s resolutions from last January, and even the one before that, and take action today. With two months left in the year, we have to act with conviction that it is not too late. Planting a seed today might get us at least a sprout by December.
As we trail off into the second half of the semester, let us not lose ourselves and our purpose. It is not too late to change your grade for that class. It is not too late to join a student organization, to start waking up early, drinking more water or appreciating the sunset once in a while.
Here we stand, then, in the center of our garden, with a bag full of seeds. Our job — the tough part — is to go and plant them. Our work is not in vain. We will soon reap the fruits of our labor.
Anna Garziera is a Trinity first-year. Her column typically runs on alternate Wednesdays.
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