I Wonder What I Was Trying to Do
Monday, October 03, 2005
The other day, while trying to finish a paper for the Shanghai conference next year, Thorn asked me what my career plans for after graduation were. Specifically, he was asking what my reasons were for graduate school. The answer I gave him was some variation on the the sunk cost fallacy, but it got me thinking. About three years ago, I actively pursued leaving Austin and the graduate program here. Uncertainty and fear kept me from actually following through with those plans, even though in hindsight, I could have spared myself from a lot of debt and frustration. Now that many of my friends have moved on to other locales, there isn't a lot keeping me here, except for the sunk costs.
Anyway, that ties in directly with one of the shows I've been watching lately, Honey and Clover, a thoughtful Japanese animated program about a group of art college students trying to make the awkward transition from the safety of the post-adolescent world of college into the harshness of the real world. The opening episode features Takemoto reminiscing about his childhood when he once rode his green bicycle as far as he could without looking back. "I wonder what I was trying to do," he explains.
As the story progresses, we see people embrace and abandon their dreams. There's Morita, the intimidatingly brilliant seventh year student who cannot stay focused to finish his graduate thesis. There's Mayama, a serious and responsible industrial artist who is deeply in love with an emotionally and physically scarred young widow. There's Yamada, the beautiful pottery expert who waits for mamma's affections, even as her many jilted admirers move on with their lives and start their own families. There's Hagu, an emotionally immature, but tremendously gifted, painter who does not seem to be able to cope with the stresses brought on by her talent.
But then there's Takemoto. When the show opens, we think that the show will be about him, but he's just another character in a show surpassingly rich with detailed characters. He's not as brilliant as the others, and he seems to have joined art college mostly as an excuse to get away from the small town where he grew up. While he demonstrates flashes of brilliance in his architecture, he always pulls away, perhaps for fear of failing, perhaps for fear of succeeding. The conflict in his character is the tension between his unblinking pursuit of something and the sudden halt, when he asks himself "I wonder what I was trying to do."
These days, I feel a lot like that, and maybe Thorn's question hit me on a particularly sensitive day. In the most recent episode I've seen, Takemoto, having resigned himself to spending a fifth year in college to finish his wrecked thesis, decides to take a journey of self-awareness. For Takemoto, that involves mostly riding around by himself on his bike, sleeping in parks, and generally trying to figure out for himself what he wants to do with his life. A journey of self-awareness sounds so romantic, at least until Takemoto's supervising professor admits he's taken at least seven of them himself. I'm very curious how this story will work out, and rumor has it that the next two episodes are fantastic.
For me, I know my reasons are more than just sunk costs, but expressing them in so many words is difficult. I'm still learning, I have research I'm interested in, and I'm finally on a real path to graduation. What happens next is uncertain, but I think I'm a long way from needing a journey of self-awareness. What I need is more like a vacation.
Anyway, that ties in directly with one of the shows I've been watching lately, Honey and Clover, a thoughtful Japanese animated program about a group of art college students trying to make the awkward transition from the safety of the post-adolescent world of college into the harshness of the real world. The opening episode features Takemoto reminiscing about his childhood when he once rode his green bicycle as far as he could without looking back. "I wonder what I was trying to do," he explains.
As the story progresses, we see people embrace and abandon their dreams. There's Morita, the intimidatingly brilliant seventh year student who cannot stay focused to finish his graduate thesis. There's Mayama, a serious and responsible industrial artist who is deeply in love with an emotionally and physically scarred young widow. There's Yamada, the beautiful pottery expert who waits for mamma's affections, even as her many jilted admirers move on with their lives and start their own families. There's Hagu, an emotionally immature, but tremendously gifted, painter who does not seem to be able to cope with the stresses brought on by her talent.
But then there's Takemoto. When the show opens, we think that the show will be about him, but he's just another character in a show surpassingly rich with detailed characters. He's not as brilliant as the others, and he seems to have joined art college mostly as an excuse to get away from the small town where he grew up. While he demonstrates flashes of brilliance in his architecture, he always pulls away, perhaps for fear of failing, perhaps for fear of succeeding. The conflict in his character is the tension between his unblinking pursuit of something and the sudden halt, when he asks himself "I wonder what I was trying to do."
These days, I feel a lot like that, and maybe Thorn's question hit me on a particularly sensitive day. In the most recent episode I've seen, Takemoto, having resigned himself to spending a fifth year in college to finish his wrecked thesis, decides to take a journey of self-awareness. For Takemoto, that involves mostly riding around by himself on his bike, sleeping in parks, and generally trying to figure out for himself what he wants to do with his life. A journey of self-awareness sounds so romantic, at least until Takemoto's supervising professor admits he's taken at least seven of them himself. I'm very curious how this story will work out, and rumor has it that the next two episodes are fantastic.
For me, I know my reasons are more than just sunk costs, but expressing them in so many words is difficult. I'm still learning, I have research I'm interested in, and I'm finally on a real path to graduation. What happens next is uncertain, but I think I'm a long way from needing a journey of self-awareness. What I need is more like a vacation.
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