Barnum & Bailey, I’m on my way

I had always been interested in drawing, so I fully intended to take "Ninth Grade Art." However, I was going from a Catholic grade school to a public high school, and I wasn't allowed to register for the next year's classes until after I'd officially graduated from eighth grade. By then, the 600-some other freshmen who were already in the public school system had made up their schedules, and the art class I wanted was full. I decided to diversity; I signed up for journalism instead.

Seven and a half years later, I am writing my last article as editor in chief of The Ram. Friends and acquaintances keep asking me how I am handling it, as though they suspect I am in mourning for my rapidly waning reign.

Perhaps I should be. After all, I am about to leave behind the commitment that has been a very significant part of my last three years at Fordham – and nearly consumed the third entirely. Furthermore, as I am not bound for a job in the world of journalism (at least, not yet) and not majoring in communications (but instead physics and chemistry), I am also on the verge of abandoning those principles and instincts that I first developed when I was 14 years old. To be honest, I don’t guarantee that I won’t feel rueful the next time I encounter a newsworthy event, and look to grab a camera and notebook, out of habit.

Yet, I can’t help but be dazzled by the opportunities that lie ahead. I am particularly fond of a William Faulkner quote: "But you can't be alive forever, and you always wear out life long before you have exhausted the possibilities of living," and I feel like something similar applies to the microcosm of college and the myriad diversions available during its duration.

This is not to say, of course, that I didn’t try to explore more of the possibilities. Indeed, it was with a profound sense of failure that I discovered that I hadn’t yet mastered the skill of being in more than two places at once. As a result, I stopped participating in stage crew for Mimes and Mummers after freshman year, I decreased my gymnastics practices to two or three per week, and even my thoroughness with schoolwork diminished. My trumpet lay cold in its case.

Which is more heinous: giving up something you love or not giving it the time it deserves? (By the same token: giving up someone you love, or not giving them the time they deserve?) In such a situation, heartache is unavoidable, and the more things and people you love, the more your heart must break. Perhaps, however, commitments need not be so limiting.

The summer before I entered college, I had the privilege of meeting and/or hearing speak a number of extraordinary people, all of whom had distinguished themselves in their chosen field. Among them were such individuals as Tom Clancy, James Cameron, Ben Carson and many other scientists, writers, entrepreneurs and artists. The one who inspired me most, though, was not so well-known. Nor did he have a single chosen field. Rather, he had been a physics professor at Carnegie Mellon before he took a summer off to work on a programming project. His computer program ended up taking more than a summer, but was eventually bought by Microsoft, which made him an executive in the company. A few years later, he found himself speaking to a crowd of recent high school graduates, and he told us that he was preparing to take a year off from Microsoft, so that he could go dig up dinosaur bones in Montana. One of my most fundamental beliefs -- that you are never too old to decide what you want to be when you grow up -- was validated.

Interesting though dinosaur bones are, topping my own list of things to become are a scientist, journalist, astronaut and illustrator. But I might run off and join the circus for a few years first.

Granted, not all of my aspirations are entirely realistic (I'm not sure if I'm tall enough to be an astronaut), and I don't rule out the possibility of being sidetracked by an unexpected passion (say, for seven and a half years, perhaps). Nevertheless, I don't plan to have a career. I plan to have many.

Thus, I’m not leaving journalism; I’m just taking some time off to explore the possibilities. I can’t wait to be truly a student again, to train gymnastics the way I used to, maybe even to join the band and, finally, to fill in all those blank pages in my sketchbook.

(published in The Ram, 5 December 2002)