Always Running

At three minutes ‘til one, laptops click closed, backpacks zip open and jackets crinkle on. Professor Tal Ben-Shahar ’96  tries unsuccessfully to finish his thought, but many miss even that: They’re already pouring out of Sanders Theater, sizing up a Positive Psych lecture that’s not even over.
Packing up before professors finish speaking is the norm in many of Harvard’s large lecture halls. Of course, a few of these early departures face a marathon dash to Vanserg and have earned the right to leave. Most, however, choose to loiter outside just moments after dashing out. These people have nowhere to go, yet they are eager to get there all the same.
Big lectures lend themselves to anonymity, and no one can hold you accountable for choosing to sidle out at 12:57. But waiting for someone to finish a thought should be understood as common courtesy. You wouldn’t stand up and leave a friend in mid-sentence, nor make a break for the door in response to a TF’s question. Why should Tal Ben-Shahar (or Michael Sandel, or Steven Pinker) have to watch dozens of students decide his final thoughts are worth less than a first look at the lunch offerings? Classes like Positive Psych are impersonal—as is much of the learning process at Harvard—but if students are going to clamor for a more humane learning environment, they should start by giving professors the respect we all deserve.
The problem behind this behavior is not student boredom, especially with some of the aforementioned stellar professors. This isn’t high school: We choose our own classes and we choose our own schedules. While a high school student has no choice but to endure Mrs. Klein’s expert insights into the structure of mushrooms, it’s assumed that a Harvard undergrad enrolled in “Biology of the Fungi” just can’t wait to learn about smuts and molds. While you may feel trapped in an occasional Core lecture or intro course, in general, attending class should never be a burden.
So why do we insist on running for the door? It may be a symptom of our speed-obsessed society, in which multitasking is necessary just to keep up. With easy, instantaneous modes of communication—like e-mail, Facebook and text messaging—and devices that allow us to do all three while buying coffee and flicking through a newspaper, we’ve grown accustomed to jumping from one activity to the next without giving anyone our undivided attention and care. According to a report by the BBC, “the addictive nature of web browsing can leave you with an attention span of nine seconds—the same as a goldfish.” It’s difficult for even the putative best and brightest to concentrate on the moment at hand with midterms, rehearsals and deadlines vying for their attention, and an iPhone full of distractions competing for what’s left of it.
But though it may be contrary to all these acquired instincts, we have much to gain by learning to live in the here-and-now—to stay totally present in the present. What’s more, people miss the most critical moment of lecture when they run out early: the end. A good professor always has a specific point to make. The best ones spend their final five minutes connecting the dots, and in so doing, explain why their lecture was worth attending in the first place. When we race away too soon, we never stop to think what we might gain by spending just a few more moments sitting still.

Molly M. Strauss ’11, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Straus Hall.