The Good Place
“Simply put, we are not in this alone”
At the beginning of senior year, in the face of my impending adulthood, I embarked on a pursuit that has carried me throughout the past 11 issues of this column.
From the ramblings of my mother’s version of Taoism, to the poetic aphorisms in beloved musicals, to the comic strips of Calvin and Hobbes, my sources have not only dwindled in their academic caliber, but been numerous and diverse, stretching wide and far in the places I’ve drawn inspiration. It’s made me realize that purpose is not some singular, unintelligible divinity, but a ubiquitous entity, sprawling, unending, everywhere, in everything. In literature, in song, in speech, in words; I read it, I hear it, I dream it, I try and understand it.
But, I also see it.
As I write this, terribly late in The Nexus classroom, isolating myself in a small corner, I peek outward from my computer. I see two of our editors, sitting criss-crossed on the floor, working on a piece symbolizing the unpredictable twists and turns of adolescence; small communications flow between them, unspoken, but told through fluid, joint brush strokes. I see intimate smiles, dramatic conversations, messy, crowded whiteboard sketches drawn by the freshmen, annotated by the seniors. I see an interviewee and interviewer, sharing parts of themselves, their expressions, gesticulations, stories, calling me back to the countless ones I’ve had in this very room. I see the Nexans on desktops, straining our eyes, working tirelessly to put together a paper of voices, weaving our own between the picas. I see strangers walking by, each carrying their own lifetime of memories, filled with friends, families, ended, beginning correspondences.
I see people.
Not for what we are relative to ourselves, but for the simplicity of our interactions with one another. Each and every expression, conversation, touch, bears this quiet, everlasting significance; the fact that we are able to exist here, together, should not be taken for granted.
In this lies my reason to study philosophy. Of course, I have an enduring love for its flowery, abstract nature and its innate questioning of our actions and qualities, but ultimately, I drive myself insane trying to lead the most meaningful life because of my bonds with other people. These interpersonal relationships have invoked in me the want to become a good person, one that makes people laugh, helps others, that impacts them positively. My pursuit is an acknowledgement of my inherent faith in humanity, no matter how flawed we are, we always have the capacity to be better in how we treat others.
In this way, we have something of a universal, social contract with one another, bound by respect, empathy, and kindness, just for the mere miracle of our intertwined existences. We owe it to each other to act, to comfort during times of suffering and sadness, we owe it to each other to be compassionate and caring, we owe it to each other to build friendships, and forgive broken ones. Yes, our connections with other people can bring us grief, far beyond what we could ever imagine, but in the end, they are an avenue to the emotions that make our lives colorful. After all, underlying this ugliness, there is beauty in the sentiment we feel for others that make it worthwhile enough to stir up a particular intensity of feeling. We need each other.
Because as Chidi Anagonye says in The Good Place, “Simply put, we are not in this alone.”
So, as I retire from my column and say goodbye to Westview, I want to leave you with that. My pursuit for purpose is far from over, but unlike my past self, I’m comforted knowing that this inexhaustible and incessant journey bears no foreseeable destination. Everywhere I go, I know I’ll find it, in the most hidden places, in the most quotidian routine.
Most of all, I know I’ll find it in people.
