Wednesday, July 14, 2010
A Hypothetical Obituary
Neither fans of this blog nor people who have met the Invisible Ben in person will be surprised to learn that he (I?) has (have? Damn, this third person conceit can flummox one's grammar! Not to worry. This whole ordeal with be finished after I finish this sentence. Well, not this sentence I'm typing now, but rather the sentence within which this parenthetical is contained. Sorry for the confusion...) become addicted over the past year to a trivia site called Sporcle. Sporcle specializes in "mentally stimulating diversion," which is a fancy way of saying trivia quizzes covering the full gamut of academic and pop cultural topics. Yes, Virginia...there finally is a place on the Internet where you can demonstrate your knowledge of advertising slogans, world capitals, and 8-bit video game music! Given my personal love of all things trivial and my semi-professional obligation to see what people who might attend my twice-monthly pub quiz might have on their minds, it's joined the New York Times and Slate as a part of my morning Internet routine.
Most of the time, I couldn't care less about the specific subject of the quizzes, and wouldn't think of scaring away my few remaining semi-loyal readers by blathering on about how many of the most populous cities starting with "K" I could name in seven minutes. (Answer: Surprisingly few!) However, a few days ago, I came across a quiz that caused me to sit up and take notice. It asked players to identify thirty-four historic figures who had died before the age of 30. (Those of you who are tired of this post are more than welcome to go try it out and come back later!)
Now for those of you keeping track, today marks my 29th birthday, so if, heaven forbid, I were to get struck by a meteor I would be a valid entry on that quiz. The problem is that after nearly three decades I'm still not sure what clue would be provided alongside my name. Now I know one shouldn't go through life comparing oneself to the "fifth Beatle" or the star of Red Dust, and most of the time, I don't! But still, I wonder, if this birthday ended up being my last, what would I leave behind? When they went to write my obituary, what would it say?
Would it mention the dissertation which has been the focus of so much of my time these past few years? Even when it's only halfway finished? What happens to all the half-completed thesis projects in the world? Is there a separate section in the vast cosmic library for people who, for whatever reason, don't get a chance to complete them?
What about my time as a teacher at Underwood? Would I be remembered as having improved the lives of my students or as just another quitter who didn't have the guts to stick it out until retirement? I doubt there would be a mention of the handful of kids who I helped get into college and who, in my more optimistic moments, I imagine are off having exciting adventures and saving the world.
In all likelihood, there would be at least a cursory discussion of my interests. If they inquired with my colleagues at Old Ivy, they might comment about the efforts I made to remain involved in departmental activities even while commuting to campus. I imagine, for example, that there would be a mention of my tenure as pub quiz host, since it is almost certainly my most public role these days. Maybe they would chat with my family and learn that I knew how to throw a boomerang and started running later in life.
All of these are things of which I am proud. Yes, even my dissertation, for all of its flaws, is shaping up to be something worthwhile. But is all that enough? Is that who I am? Is that how I'm known now and will be remembered, if I am remembered at all? That's a much harder set of questions to answer...
Certainly compared to any of the figures on that Sporcle quiz, the achievements of my life will not be deemed historically significant unless somehow this blog turns into the electronic equivalent of Samuel Pepys' diary. Then people will be quite eager to decipher my various codenames for people and places in an attempt to gain some modicum of insight into life at the dawn of the 21st century. Sadly, that's an unlikely scenario and consequently, I must accept that either my best work is yet to come or I'm going to fade unceremoniously into obscurity. Or both!
But let's set history aside, for a moment and consider the here and now. The reality is that even if one has accomplished something deemed significant in retrospect, there exists a part of human nature that will always desire something more. You think Buddy Holly wouldn't have appreciated the chance to work on a few more hit albums? Yet if that's the case, are we doomed to spend our lives feeling unsatisfied? Beyond the tiny minority able to discover their true calling and have the opportunity to pursue it to their heart's content, what hope is left for the rest of us?
For some, the answer to that question might be found in philosophy or religion (or both!), but after thinking about it for a while, I think the best option is to focus on the present. It's easy to get bogged down dwelling on the counterfactuals that plague our pasts and agonizing attempting to live up to the standards of some far-off unknown future. That leaves the present as the only option. For Voltaire, this meant continuing to work in the garden. For Woody Allen, it's about realizing that our experiences may be as miserable as the food at a rundown Catskill resort, but they are precious all the same. And as Tom Lehrer noted, it's the realization that that life is like a sewer: What you get out of it depends on what you put into it.
This solution is not always particularly comforting, but it does have the practical benefit of being completely inevitable. After all, the present is all we have, even on birthdays. For now, I'll just have to do my best to remember that, focusing on the things I can control and avoiding comparisons with friends, colleagues, or historical heroes. And hopefully, next year, when my 30th birthday rolls around, the quizzes on Sporcle will not provoke such melancholy thoughts.
Happy Bastille Day, all.
(2) comments
Neither fans of this blog nor people who have met the Invisible Ben in person will be surprised to learn that he (I?) has (have? Damn, this third person conceit can flummox one's grammar! Not to worry. This whole ordeal with be finished after I finish this sentence. Well, not this sentence I'm typing now, but rather the sentence within which this parenthetical is contained. Sorry for the confusion...) become addicted over the past year to a trivia site called Sporcle. Sporcle specializes in "mentally stimulating diversion," which is a fancy way of saying trivia quizzes covering the full gamut of academic and pop cultural topics. Yes, Virginia...there finally is a place on the Internet where you can demonstrate your knowledge of advertising slogans, world capitals, and 8-bit video game music! Given my personal love of all things trivial and my semi-professional obligation to see what people who might attend my twice-monthly pub quiz might have on their minds, it's joined the New York Times and Slate as a part of my morning Internet routine.
Most of the time, I couldn't care less about the specific subject of the quizzes, and wouldn't think of scaring away my few remaining semi-loyal readers by blathering on about how many of the most populous cities starting with "K" I could name in seven minutes. (Answer: Surprisingly few!) However, a few days ago, I came across a quiz that caused me to sit up and take notice. It asked players to identify thirty-four historic figures who had died before the age of 30. (Those of you who are tired of this post are more than welcome to go try it out and come back later!)
Now for those of you keeping track, today marks my 29th birthday, so if, heaven forbid, I were to get struck by a meteor I would be a valid entry on that quiz. The problem is that after nearly three decades I'm still not sure what clue would be provided alongside my name. Now I know one shouldn't go through life comparing oneself to the "fifth Beatle" or the star of Red Dust, and most of the time, I don't! But still, I wonder, if this birthday ended up being my last, what would I leave behind? When they went to write my obituary, what would it say?
Would it mention the dissertation which has been the focus of so much of my time these past few years? Even when it's only halfway finished? What happens to all the half-completed thesis projects in the world? Is there a separate section in the vast cosmic library for people who, for whatever reason, don't get a chance to complete them?
What about my time as a teacher at Underwood? Would I be remembered as having improved the lives of my students or as just another quitter who didn't have the guts to stick it out until retirement? I doubt there would be a mention of the handful of kids who I helped get into college and who, in my more optimistic moments, I imagine are off having exciting adventures and saving the world.
In all likelihood, there would be at least a cursory discussion of my interests. If they inquired with my colleagues at Old Ivy, they might comment about the efforts I made to remain involved in departmental activities even while commuting to campus. I imagine, for example, that there would be a mention of my tenure as pub quiz host, since it is almost certainly my most public role these days. Maybe they would chat with my family and learn that I knew how to throw a boomerang and started running later in life.
All of these are things of which I am proud. Yes, even my dissertation, for all of its flaws, is shaping up to be something worthwhile. But is all that enough? Is that who I am? Is that how I'm known now and will be remembered, if I am remembered at all? That's a much harder set of questions to answer...
Certainly compared to any of the figures on that Sporcle quiz, the achievements of my life will not be deemed historically significant unless somehow this blog turns into the electronic equivalent of Samuel Pepys' diary. Then people will be quite eager to decipher my various codenames for people and places in an attempt to gain some modicum of insight into life at the dawn of the 21st century. Sadly, that's an unlikely scenario and consequently, I must accept that either my best work is yet to come or I'm going to fade unceremoniously into obscurity. Or both!
But let's set history aside, for a moment and consider the here and now. The reality is that even if one has accomplished something deemed significant in retrospect, there exists a part of human nature that will always desire something more. You think Buddy Holly wouldn't have appreciated the chance to work on a few more hit albums? Yet if that's the case, are we doomed to spend our lives feeling unsatisfied? Beyond the tiny minority able to discover their true calling and have the opportunity to pursue it to their heart's content, what hope is left for the rest of us?
For some, the answer to that question might be found in philosophy or religion (or both!), but after thinking about it for a while, I think the best option is to focus on the present. It's easy to get bogged down dwelling on the counterfactuals that plague our pasts and agonizing attempting to live up to the standards of some far-off unknown future. That leaves the present as the only option. For Voltaire, this meant continuing to work in the garden. For Woody Allen, it's about realizing that our experiences may be as miserable as the food at a rundown Catskill resort, but they are precious all the same. And as Tom Lehrer noted, it's the realization that that life is like a sewer: What you get out of it depends on what you put into it.
This solution is not always particularly comforting, but it does have the practical benefit of being completely inevitable. After all, the present is all we have, even on birthdays. For now, I'll just have to do my best to remember that, focusing on the things I can control and avoiding comparisons with friends, colleagues, or historical heroes. And hopefully, next year, when my 30th birthday rolls around, the quizzes on Sporcle will not provoke such melancholy thoughts.
Happy Bastille Day, all.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
102 Degrees (Fondly Fahrenheit)
From the Snowpocalypse to a triple-digit heat wave!
Good thing I don't have a softball game tomorrow.
Oh wait...
Ah well, it could be a lot worse. I am an academic, after all, and even record-setting temperatures have trouble penetrating the walls of a climate-controlled library.
Speaking of climate control, the global warming deniers have suddenly gotten a lot quieter. Anyone else wonder where they've gone? My bet is to South Africa for the World Cup.
(0) comments
From the Snowpocalypse to a triple-digit heat wave!
Good thing I don't have a softball game tomorrow.
Oh wait...
Ah well, it could be a lot worse. I am an academic, after all, and even record-setting temperatures have trouble penetrating the walls of a climate-controlled library.
Speaking of climate control, the global warming deniers have suddenly gotten a lot quieter. Anyone else wonder where they've gone? My bet is to South Africa for the World Cup.
