A preface to lunch Where everybody knows your name

Author: James O'Brien

It has taken me nearly a full two years at Middlebury College, but I have finally learned that everyone has problems. Paradoxically, most of us seem to believe that the hard-working students around us are crises-free, while, at the same time, we downplay our issues because we have the vague understanding that someone out there certainly has it worse. In other words, we tend to think that no one understands us, but we also believe that plenty of people are suffering more. Technically we understand that the students buzzing around us have tough things going on in their lives, but since we never see this for ourselves, it is nearly impossible not to feel a little out of place. The people around me seem constantly chipper, focused and ready to begin a robotic day of schoolwork and productivity. They are saving lives, promoting causes and getting As. You might feel the same way - you can't quite figure out how they do it, but they must know something you don't.

It's strange how we think other students have everything under control while they are looking right back at us thinking the same thing. This phenomenon contributes to our collective psychosis and the desire to seem happy and normal. I'm not sure exactly how to remedy this situation. We can't walk around wearing our issues on our shirts or constantly venting to strangers about family deaths. Maybe, as we pick up our backpacks, the ones bursting at the seams from sheer volume of books we are carrying - books whose contents we will soon forget along with their titles - we can tape signs to the backs. The signs might say: "I understand."

The other end of the spectrum - the idea that our personal trials are somehow "easier" than, say, starving Africans or immigrant workers - is a noble but troubling impulse. I can imagine a Middlebury student lying on the slopes after a skiing accident with a bone sticking out of his or her leg, thinking: "I really can't complain. I'm certainly better off than the Headless Horseman." Downplaying our own issues is common - in part because we are constantly bombarded with images of international atrocities and victims that put our daily burdens to shame. It is very important, however, that we do not take our (often admittedly trivial) problems too lightly simply because we know that, somewhere, other people are having a tougher time. In my limited experience with sadness and frustration, I find that human emotions tend to adapt to situations. If we are living our lives at a time of low stress, our minds will somehow find relatively small things to worry about. Conversely, when we are stressed, our minds automatically adjust to the situation and we can usually cope no matter what the problem is. It almost seems desirable to have "real problems" because serious troubles make us feel more justified in our worrying. The recognition and acknowledgement of extreme problems in the outside world can actually make us feel worse about our situation without knowing why.

I think, for the most part we, all understand how lucky we are, and we want to be able to be able to do the most with what we've been given. In order to best take advantage of our opportunity, it is crucial that we sympathize for those around us. But it also important to occasionally zoom in on our own lives. We could certainly belittle the impact of a broken leg on our lives simply because there are millions of others around the world suffering with the same ailment. This rationalizing may be healthy at times, but, by this line of reasoning, we would also have to downplay the birth of our first child because, well, doesn't it seem like everyone has kids? Whether warranted or not, I think we sometimes need a certain degree of outer-world denial. How else are we supposed to think that our own lives are important when there are billions of others doing the same things?

I remember when I was a little kid on a trip to Six Flags. The roller coasters were great, but I couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. The swarms of people continuously reminded me that I was just one of many. Riding the Ferris wheel, I saw a hot air balloon floating up above, and I thought about how I probably looked like an insect to those people in the balloon. Did the little girl in the balloon understand the implications of her words when she pointed out to her mother that the people below looked like ants? Probably not…I still wonder what ants think they are seeing when they look up at us. Do they wonder why we so rarely say what we want to say? I also tend to wonder how ants could possibly have emotional intelligence to think of that question.

I'd like to leave you with a tag-line, variations of which I have heard countless times in promotions for new films and television shows: "A place where nothing is as it seems." Media executives apparently think that this quotation will make their piece of entertainment stand out. I can't understand why. A place where everything is exactly what it seems would be far more unique.

James O'Brien is an English Major from Medfield, Mass.