I

n terms of an introduction, this is a column about 
nothing in particular. But it’s also a column about 
anything under the sun. I don’t know if this affords 
me unmeasurable literary freedom or if it cages me in, 
wandering aimlessly around the halls of banality. But as 
a circus manager in charge of transporting the big top 
from town to town has probably said at least once, “Let’s 
get this show on the road.”
If you’re my mom, you might know I used to write a 
column in Statement called “Soundtracking,” where I 
would pair events and feelings with specific songs in an 
attempt to highlight the musicality of life, which is often 
filled with repetition and been-there, done-thats. If you 
happen to not be the woman who brought me into this 
world and supported me in everything I ever did (even 
during the mullet phase in middle school), you probably 
have no clue that column existed. And I’m okay with that. 
It was an experiment in exploring myself.
Every two weeks, Statement editors (sometimes much 
to their dismay I’m sure) afforded me the privilege of 
scrolling through Spotify playlists and recounting tales 
of embarrassment, profound life changes and even my 
own lackluster deflowering on one specific occasion. But 
every time I sat down to write — and even now, as I sit 
at my desk hoping the patron saint Billie Holiday will 
give me something of value to say — I wrote to destress. 
I wrote to take a moment for myself. I was comfortable 
where I was, click-clacking away obnoxiously because I 
never learned how to type.
No seriously, I never learned how to type. My right 
hand goes wild but my left pecks and only covers like 10 
or 15 keys. I look like that gif of Kermit the Frog at the 
typewriter, but only typing 30 or 40 words per minute. 
But back to writing.
I wrote that column because I felt as though it was 
where my needs and skills (or lack thereof) fit best. And I 
absolutely loved it. I had the freedom to revel in my past 
embarrassments, to explore the deepest caverns of my 
memory and share them with the world. I was able to toy 
with the past while staying incredibly present. Now, it’s 
the future I’m scared of.
C

ut back to this most recent Thanksgiving — the 
worst holiday when you don’t have a concrete, 
step-by-step answer to the foreboding question, 
“What are you thinking post-grad?” The question looms 
over every conversation with every third aunt 18 times 
removed. Even when the words aren’t leaving their lips, 
you can see it in their eyes. It’s like when parents can’t 
wait to ask the waitress how their day’s been.
Some inquiring adults I can evade with a simple, “I’d 
be happy in anything as long as I’m writing.” I do mean 
that wholeheartedly, but it really does the trick to get 
people off my back. Then I can go on my merry way. But 
one especially persistent relative dared to hit me with the 
follow-up.
“But what does that mean, Matt? What happened to 
journalism?”
“Ummmmm…”

(Before I have the chance to respond) “You’re almost 
21! You can’t not know what you’re gonna do after you 
graduate.”
Dat shit hurted.
After that one interaction, I lied awake at night, try-
ing to imagine a million different futures — my own fig 
tree straight from Plath. I made so many yellow legal pad 
lists, scrawling internship pathways, connections to call 
in, everything a higher-education institution has taught 
me to do. It’s not what you know, but who you know. But 
how am I supposed to figure out who I know if I don’t 
even know myself?
Over every gust of wind on this campus, every echo, 
I hear a voice. The voice demands your future be set in 
stone. Whether it’s your own decision or someone else’s 
— what you do, the voice cares not. But the voice badgers 
me every day for not knowing exactly what my plan for 
the future is. If I don’t have a pathway I can confident-
ly outline to any newcomer who demands one, maybe I 
should just do what others want me to do instead. Then I 
never have to figure it out myself.

A

n hour ago (an hour from writing, not an hour 
real time from when you’re reading this. That 
would be crazy if I could time that out), some-
one asked me what my plans are this semester. When I 
told them about being a deputy Statement editor — and 
how I planned on taking a step back from the 24/7 News 
process I used to be entrenched in — I was hit with a big, 
fat “Why?”
And now I would like to present to you a list of ques-
tions it is acceptable to ask someone when they are excit-
ed about their new job on Statement, even if it doesn’t fit 
in your expectations of what you thought they might do 
with their life:
“What are you guys thinking about doing with State-
ment?”
“Are your occasional columns gonna be like 
Soundtracking? Your mom told me those were great!”
“Why are you so strapping and handsome?”
And here’s a list of questions that aren’t acceptable:
“That seems like a step back. Why don’t you want to 
do more?”
“Don’t you love The Daily?”
“Why are you already crying? It’s only 9 a.m.”
I know this isn’t their fault (especially the crying bit). 
It’s just our immediate reaction. We expect people to 
strive to do the most they can for the things they love. 
And I do love The Michigan Daily and News. With my 
whole heart. But I also love being able to experiment with 
other projects and mediums of expression. Taking a step 
back to bask in what you’ve created and focus on yourself 
shouldn’t be an instinctively interrogated decision.
But here’s where my typical, self-destructive behavior 
would kick in, telling me I’m being self-serving and let-
ting people down for not doing more.
This semester, I’m trying a new thing. It’s called confi-
dence. Haven’t heard of her before, but we’ll see how she 
is.I

n an ideal world, I just want to breathe. And we 
aren’t afforded much time to breathe at this uni-
versity. It’s four years, maybe five, and then you’re 
thrust out into the scary world like a newly christened 
ship embarking on its maiden voyage. Everyone wants to 
know about where the ship is going, but few ask how the 
ship’s doing as it bobs in the water. As a professor once 
told me when I almost broke down during office hours 
asking what I should do with my life, higher education 
should be a place for experimentation.
As members of this university and, even broader, as 
humans, we need to collectively encourage exploration. 
Because what typically follows experimentation is a bet-
ter understanding of self. And isn’t that what higher edu-
cation should be about? Finding out who the hell you are?
Take that ceramics class even if the credits won’t count 
for anything. Who says you can’t play mandolin? Tell the 
world to take its expectations of you and feed ‘em to the 
birds.
As Socrates probably once said, “Love yourself, you’re 
worth it, cutie.”

Wednesday, January 9, 2019 // The Statement
2B

BY MATTHEW HARMON, DEPUTY STATEMENT EDITOR
Coming up for air

Managing Statement Editor

Andrea Pérez Balderrama

Deputy Editors

Matthew Harmon

Shannon Ors

Designers

Liz Bigham

Kate Glad

Copy Editors

Miriam Francisco

Madeline Turner

Photo Editor

Annuie Klusendorf

Editor in Chief

Maya Goldman

Managing Editor

Finntan Storer
statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | JANUARY 9, 2019

Alexis Rankin /Daily 
Matthew Harmon is a Deputy Statement Editor.

