Daniel Gurevitch | The serious and the light-hearted

As my time in college reaches a close, I want to share a parable about a fisherman and a businessman who serendipitously meet:

The businessman works long days and has achieved great things. But the fisherman, after catching enough fish for his family, works only a few hours a day. He then spends his time sipping wine and playing music with friends. The two, hoping to merge aspects of the other’s life into their own, share advice. The businessman recommends buying more boats, hiring more workers, and retiring early. The fisherman asks what he would do then. “Well,” the businessman replies, “then you could spend your time sipping wine and playing music with friends.”

Unlike this parable, the choice between career and personal success is not binary. The businessman shows that hard work pays off. But Penn accepted us because we know that lesson. The fisherman, conversely, teaches us a lesson we often overlook: If you focus only on the serious, you might lose sight of the light-hearted moments that add color to life. The ROI of joy always beats the S&P. 

At Penn, a tug-of-war between the serious and the light-hearted competes for our attention. For each wild night we spend at frat parties, we also all return home to MATH 1410 homework. Nothing screams “Social Ivy,” and “work hard, play hard” like derivatives at 1 a.m. For each of us studying in Penn’s 19 libraries, there’s someone “studying” at Smokey Joe’s — the unofficial 20th. And for each group of us planning to become businessmen, there’s at least one person planning to become a fisherman.

Luckily, these seemingly different paths coexist. We can journey to the corner office while finding joy in the detours.

My own time at Penn taught me this lesson. Within a month of adjusting to post-COVID-19 college, my grandmother — my closest friend — was struck by a car a 20-minute walk from campus, flung into the air, and placed into a month-long coma. On three separate occasions, I held her hand and said goodbye for what I thought would be the last time. I will never forget the steady hum of the ventilator strapped to her face and the metronomic beat that suffocated the room of her heart monitor. 

As I sat talking to a body that couldn’t and wouldn’t respond, I understood how so much could change so quickly. I realized I no longer wanted to solely define myself by my studies, grades, or resume. 

Miraculously, my grandmother recovered. Her presence also feels familiar: she is a proud Penn alum who returned to campus last semester to speak with students about her path as a Jewish woman immigrating from Egypt to the United States.

Her recovery and my realization led me to the only thing I could do: embrace the light-hearted.

I played Spikeball at 3 a.m. in the Harnwell rooftop lounge. I took SABS-ing to a new level by sitting in the Rodin elevator for four hours and blasting party music. I even got fired from The Daily Pennsylvanian. Twice. Somehow, along the way, I made room for the serious and am now weeks away from graduating.

I know Penn’s unofficial motto is that a productive conversation means scheduling a coffee chat with the person in the neighboring bathroom stall. But we do not need to define ourselves by our jobs, wallets, or 500+ LinkedIn connections. There is no report card for life. As a good friend of mine once said: “The night isn’t just young, it’s barely in diapers!” And, I’d argue, our lives have barely begun to take their first steps.

So, as first years flock to coding and consulting clubs — and as seniors migrate from Van Pelt and Huntsman Hall to courtrooms and operating rooms — be like the fisherman. Stop always thinking about the path forward; instead, feel your feet where they’re planted today. Focus on and embrace the light-hearted — the serious isn’t going anywhere. 

DANIEL GUREVITCH is a senior studying psychology and political science from Lower Merion, Pa. His email is  dgure@sas.upenn.edu.