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.