How to control your own life

If you know me personally, this is a contrast to my usual, narrow-eyed, grumbling trek across campus on any given morning. By the afternoon, I found myself wondering what had brought about this change. The only explanation for how I felt was that everything I was doing was of my own volition. I did not feel obligated to go to class; I wanted to. My alarm wasn’t the only thing pulling me out of my bed; it was my own desire to start the day. What made today special was the fact that everything was on my terms.

Princeton, like all other great schools, can attract (or breed) a certain type of student. That is, most of us believe we hold some measure of potential, and rightfully so: Schools tell us as much when they send us our acceptance letters. We have standards, goals and ambitions that can appear fanciful to people who have not attained a postsecondary education or to those who are more comfortable with the non-academic realm. Because of this, many of us feel that we owe it to ourselves to fulfill said potential. If we don’t succeed at the things we are passionate about, we feel we have let ourselves down. For all practical purposes, our egos keep us accountable.

With many of us cracking the whips over our own heads, then, why should anything we do seem to be anything but a choice? In theory, it is easy for us to recognize that we do, in fact, select our own activities, sleeping hours, class schedules and futures. But if that is so, why does it take just one pass around campus to hear the words, “I have to [insert time commitment here]”? Why is it that, on a campus of free, independent, creative minds, we have such a burdened air, a weight on each of our brows that keeps them furrowed in concentration, an iron suit of obligation to put ourselves through hell and back for things we no longer seem to enjoy? We slap our palms to our foreheads, snore over a pile of books, stare mutinously at the director, coach or teacher before us, but do nothing to break free.

The cyclical nature of the theater community to which I belong has allowed me to witness this masochism. Of the handful of shows I have been in at Princeton, there is not one in which cast members have gone without complaining (or having combustible frustration) about the director, process, script, schedule or some other facet of the production. Yet once the show is over, several of those same performers are lined up again for another go-around through the torture chamber. In the same way, students sign up for more stressful classes, athletes condition themselves to take on more painful workouts and the overachievers plug one more thing into their schedules, which ironically have no room for the breakdowns they face every Sunday evening. While I’m not promoting sedentary living, it’s time that we, as Princeton students, stop taking these challenges to an unhealthy extreme.

My euphoric experience on Monday came from the revelation that I had choices. I did not decide to do anything that day differently than I would do any other weekday, but knowing that I could do so provided me with a comfort alien to my Princeton life. I suddenly realized that I had the capacity to change the things that leave me unsatisfied. Those changes may be limited to my personal life right now, but maybe my confidence and self-awareness will one day grow to the point that I feel comfortable making larger ones across this campus.

Maybe, by putting an end to this conception of ourselves as helpless, we can take control of the policies and rules that make us angry. And maybe, by quieting the curses against Dean Malkiel at the break of dawn, we can also silence the voices of our prideful ambition that demand a bit too much. Just maybe, by using that allotted cursing time to instead get a solid eight hours of sleep, we can wake up in the morning, renewed and reminded that the day we are about begin was prepared by — and for — us.

Joey Barnett is a sophomore from Tulare, Calif. He can be reached at jbarnett@princeton.edu.