I’m starting to cringe whenever I hear “carpe diem.”
It’s not that I think there’s anything inherently wrong with day-seizing. Far from it, in fact, it’s often an effective antidote to dwelling on the past, over-analyzing the present or being overly cowed by the future. And I know that the occasional admonishment to seize the day has kept me from sliding too far into the depths of what I call “fate-sourcing” — relying, with dubious results, on fate to do things for me that I should be doing for myself.
But as I get closer to graduation, I’m finding myself feeling increasingly trepid by the notion of entering the real world — or, more specifically, entering the real world with no idea what the hell I’m doing. It’s not so much senioritis as it is some drug-resistant super-strain of senioritis — a sort of anxious apathy laced with some frustration that this whole “next stage of life” thing doesn’t really come with a manual. And there’s the vague embarrassment over the realization that I really, really wish such a manual existed.
None of this is unique to me, I know. Not only do I have the entire class of 2010 joining me in plunging into an unsure future with varying levels of readiness, but people of all ages and all walks of life, frequently with an assist from a bleak economy, have been — and will be —plunging into an unsure future for a while.
At least anecdotally, when I ask aloud what I’m supposed to be doing, somebody, without fail, offers some variation of “carpe diem,” examples of how to go about doing so often include taking random road trips or talking to more strangers. Nice things, to be sure, but I question how much of that really constitutes seizing the day.
This sort of thinking creates the impression that what we’re supposed to be doing is creating a list of cool, interesting things that we did — and that feels insubstantial and unsatisfying, akin to throwing together a bunch of facts, quotes and statistics into a Word document, double-spacing it and calling it a thesis.
Living like this is very much a product of our culture. We use lists as measurements of success pretty frequently — from the social lists (the names of all the close friends we keep in our lives) to the professional lists (a résumé describing our qualifications and skills — after all, a CV is a list that literally means “course of life”). And I just can’t believe that more list-making is what we’re all supposed to be doing.
I don’t pretend to know what life is, but I feel comfortable taking a stab at what it isn’t.
It isn’t just a collection of degrees, certificates and credentials, framed and neatly hung in the wall of your den.
It isn’t just a bank account balance; a promising, well-diversified stock portfolio; or a series of increasingly impressive job titles and corner offices.
It isn’t just social connections you’ve made, relationships you’ve been in or people with whom you’ve had sex.
It isn’t just a set of countries you’ve visited, languages you’ve learned or travel miles you’ve logged.
And it isn’t just a bunch of cool anecdotes to tell your friends later to prove that you’re living life.
These aren’t bad things, but there’s a danger in thinking that they’re inherently good, meaningful things. Being in a relationship, getting a degree, having lots of money, traveling the world — these sorts of things derive their meaning entirely from context: Why these things are being done, and what will happen after they’re done. Moving without direction is just as bad as standing still — and that includes “carpe diem” - driven road trips.
And that’s my problem with “carpe diem”: It answers “What now?” without answering “Why now?,” and that just reminds me that I don’t really have an answer to the latter either.
Joe Dellosa is an advertising senior. His column appears on Tuesdays.
