Clara Jane Hendrickson | The dangerous self

Leftovers | Granting ourselves permission to want

By Clara Jane Hendrickson 11/19/15 12:48am

It seems like every Locust Walk encounter with a friend, acquaintance or classmate brings another instance of a Penn student bemoaning their own misfortune for being swamped, under-socialized, under-slept and overworked. Not one comments on the fulfillment brought to them by their various commitments, classes or even friendships. However, I imagine fulfillment is comprised or takes a back seat somewhere along the burnout experienced by many of my peers.

I hate to add to the litany of complaints and commentary on Penn’s unhealthily taxing student life, but the question no one seems to be asking is whether our commitments and long lists of ambitious aspirations is really making us more mature and whole people.

We value the student that is able to do so much and still keep everything together and appear composed as the ultimate model of Penn success. Why don’t we value the student that has made the decision to do one or two things very well? While the overcommitted student is commendable in her effort and dedication, she is also indecisive. Setting priorities can be an important exercise, one that Penn students rarelyseem to engage in.

In trying to do it all, it’s hard to really know what drives my peers at the end of the day. I wonder if indecisiveness is not somehow related to an inability to be vulnerable in committing fully to one’s genuine interests.

I often think of the difference in experience between the conservatory student and the liberal arts student. The idea of focusing on one instrument, one skill or refining musicianship for only four years is a daunting prospect. The liberal arts student on the other hand is a jack of all trades, believes she is smart and capable in all modes of thought. But it is not enough to merely be smart — one must also show a heedless desire to cultivate one’s unique thoughts and self. Being well-versed in the taught arguments, being comfortable in multiple disciplines and taking English seminars while pursuing marketing internships is all very admirable, but is it useful for oneself?

In her memoir “The Odd Woman and the City,” Vivian Gornick writes, “Ever since I could remember, I had feared being found wanting. If I did the work I wanted to do, it was certain not to measure up; if I pursued the people I wanted to know, I was bound to be rejected; if I made myself as attractive as I could, I would still be ordinary looking ... To do any or all of these things well would have been to engage heedlessly with life — love it more than I loved my fears — and this I could not do.”

I fear as Penn students who try to do it all, we miss out on the opportunity to pour our whole selves into something, to truly allow ourselves to want more than is safe and comfortable. Doing so would require accepting the possibility of failure. In addition to the proliferation of safe spaces on college campuses that offer protection from offense, I wonder if there is not another kind of space that should cause equal alarm. The space that keeps us overcommitted and overworked but “underwanting.” I wonder if our advocacy for self-protection keeps us in a reactionary state by constantly taking on things regardless of their meaning to us without ever having the audacity to envision their real personal worth.

It seems odd that as we have allowed ourselves to genuinely want less and less, we seem to have become the enthusiastic proponents of codifying our political ideologies. Just as we have not asked ourselves to make tough decisions about what it really is we wish to accomplish in these four years of college, we have also shied away from asking tough questions and expressed a lack of desire to complicate many of our political thoughts. Subscribing to notions of pre-professionalism by trying to do everything is easy. So is subscribing to a set of values that have been pre-determined for you. Both eradicate thoughtful individual engagement with the ideas and actions that color everyday life.

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