Under Pressure

Heather, a starling-eyed cashier at my favorite coffee shop, advised a radical change in muffin choice. “Live dangerously,” she said while swiping the Visa. Little did she know I was already in danger. At 6 p.m., I had yet to begin a research paper that was due the following morning.

8 p.m. – Coffee is getting cold. I do not blame Heather for her invite to a world of perils and pitfalls. To the sight of anyone off campus, we live cushioned lives. Yet, the life of Ivy League students is a pressurized, never-ending race.

10 p.m. – I wish I could read the dregs of Arabica in my mug. During early childhood, parents take us to football practice, ballet lessons, or early-reading classes to prepare for school. Then, many struggle with waiting lists to get their kids into elite prep schools a la Eton. Soon the time will come for standardization in the quest for the elusive Ithaca: elite colleges. To the application recipe, add a pinch of both “productive” extracurriculars and “useful” summers. Always remember the secret ingredient: “It should look good on paper.”

12 a.m. – I need an espresso machine. Even afterwards, the goal is to impress future employers, for whom you will burn midnight oil hoping for a larger December bonus. Someone at the Office of Career Services even told me my freshman summer was “the last time when I could truly do something I… just enjoyed.”

2 a.m. – Maybe I should do tea. The race has always existed. But even so, acceleration is undeniable. For example, investment banks used to employ only rising seniors. Now, they have rising junior programs and even special camps for freshmen. Some Harvard counselors even advise sophomores to start taking LSATs. Did you get that Barron’s yet?

4 a.m. – And all for what?

If I could answer that question, I would definitely add a bestseller to my resume. In “The Death of Ivan Ilyich,” Leo Tolstoy equated modern urban life to “the example of a stone falling downwards with increasing velocity.” Bureaucratic jobs, endless soirées and “proper” marriages to fill our social roles, applicable to 19th century Moscow or Cambridge tomorrow. A tragic mirage that entails hypocrisy, emptiness, and cocktail parties.

Milan Kundera thought of speed much more favorably, but only because of what he termed “vertigo,” the ability to find small moments of imperishability in a world that does not encourage it. Vertigo makes us enjoy the peaceful pleasures of life. By that, Kundera means the life-saving sight of someone you deeply care about sleeping serenely by your side or holding her hand amidst the shipwreck of civilization. Vertigo is about finding meaning in experience, and if having not found it, to make it.

6 a.m. – I’m back at the coffee shop. Why do you do it? The answer can be anywhere. I look around. It might even lie in Heather’s gorgeous eyes. One thing is certain: side with someone, take some meaning, fight some battle.

I guess I’m not very worried, despite the fact that my paper is yet to be written. After all, at this stage, so are our lives.



Pierpaolo Barbieri ’09, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Thayer Hall.