year in review
Pop tarts belong in the freezer, not the toaster. I learned this in 2023. This is perhaps the one thing I learned in 2023 that I find unquestionable. I feel that everything else I learned this year has been supremely uncertain. I did, I think, more learning this year than I have done in any year prior. This is likely because I am older now than I have ever been (although of this fact, I am also supremely uncertain— I felt far older as a high school senior than I do as a college freshman). When discussing time, the practice of utilizing an arbitrary 12-month period to section one’s life is generally discouraged, and I can see why— what makes January any different from December, other than that January comes after? However, January of this year really did signify, for me, a new beginning, mostly owing to the fact that I had just been accepted into college (yay!) and finished my recovery from wisdom tooth surgery (bleh, and also a first-world problem if I’ve ever heard of one). This new beginning felt exciting, but it didn’t feel good, because I immediately jumped into the jaws of a massive emotional crisis.
I’ll try to describe my dillemma succinctly. However, I will also do so pretentiously. My bad.
A cornerstone of existentialist philosophy is, as novelist (and critic of existentialism) Iris Murdoch puts it, “the identification of the self with the will.” That is, existentialism puts a premium on the idea that we are our actions— what matters most is our capacity to actualize willpower. If that’s accurate, then every single high schooler who’s ever embraced “the grind” is, in part, a devotee of existentialism. This existentialist view is popular for high-schoolers, particularly self-described high achievers, because, well, it works. In high school, I and my peers could lose ourselves in expressions of academic, athletic, and extracurricular willpower every day, and this was a good thing, because it was in service of the ultimate goal of admittance to a top university. But, once students have their college decision settled, there’s a period before the new grind of university begins, where the self begins to be defined less by willpower and more by personal characteristics, values, and experiences— i.e., who are you beyond your grades? Who are you beyond the personal experiences section of your CommonApp? (Yes, I am aware of how cliche those questions are). This, anyhow, was my personal crisis— I had no idea who I was, and I had no idea who I wanted to be.
I sought to save myself via books. I’ll say right off the bat that the books didn’t work— obviously, a writer who doesn't know me could never show me a crystal clear instruction guide helping me to become whoever I should be. I realized after reading Siddartha that I would never learn who I want to be. Cringeworthy cliche incoming: you really only ever figure out how you want to be. I know I want to go into politics, yes. But I really stopped trying to build up an exact description of the man I want to be in 20 years, because that approach to self-worth doesn’t incorporate any actual life-experience (which is defined by unpredictability). I did build a description of how I want to conduct myself on a day-to-day basis— i.e. I want to be kind, I want to be intentional about health, I want to work hard (sorry, Iris Murdoch), and I want to appreciate the beauty of the people in my life. Basic shit, yes, but also important shit.
Anyways, back to the books. Throughout the year, I looked for any book that I hoped could show me something about being a person that I didn’t already know. Every single book that I finished passed that test with flying colors, and I want to briefly share the list with a one-sentence description of the lessons each book taught me.
Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut
War is awful and also funny.
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
How we conduct ourselves matters beyond our worldly impact— it also informs who we are internally. Also, hedonism is bad (thanks, Oscar).
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
Life is hard for some people, it’s really hard for other people, humanity is defined by the capacity to love, and life is defined by an intangible and tragic beauty that only a poet could begin to articulate.
The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
Value experience and self-reflection over developing your ego.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
I feel like I would need a professor to help me really understand this one, but the social and societal impacts of colonialism are vast and complex beyond our traditional understanding.
Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain
Bourdain rocks, kitchens are messy, and cooking is wonderful. Eat like food matters.
The Stranger by Albert Camus
Life doesn’t matter. I’m not sure whether Camus believed this or not, but the book provided a strong case for absurdism.
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora-Neal Hurston
I really don’t want to dull this book down to one lesson. I’ll let you read it. I will say that what I focused on when reading was the book’s exploration of the psychology of worship.
Siddartha by Hermann Hesse
You’ll never learn the point of life. The point is in the experience, not in the obsessive search for meaning.
If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin
Once again, this isn’t really a book I can articulate in a one-sentence lesson. But it’s a book about loving people in a world where hatred dominates.
Darkwater by W.E.B Dubois
Among a lot of lessons: it’s crucial to view world history with an appreciation for the immense scope of the Western world’s disturbing exploitation of the African continent (more of a historical read than a philosophical one, but incredible nonetheless).
A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain
Travel and eat when you can. Be careful around oysters.
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
Holy shit, this book was good. God is possibly real, life is absurd, and, despite that absurdity, the world is more than nonsense.
Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami
When choosing between genuine improvement of the self and superficial improvement of that which informs the ego, choose the former.
The Sentence by Louise Erdrich
We must be empathetic toward ourselves.
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
The “manifest destiny”, “conquer-everything” mentality that dominates western nationalism/individualism is violent, unpredictable, and psychologically devastating.
Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Incredible book. It is possible to be completely paralyzed by your own insecurity and ego. We can make ourselves evil, and we can make ourselves good.
Another Country by James Baldwin
Love makes everything super messy, and the world we have built for ourselves turns love into a mechanism of proliferating guilt. However, love is all that matters.
Anyways, that’s what I read. Here’s what I did.
In January and February, I mostly focused on getting prepared for a handful of indoor track meets. I also started this blog, which made my senior spring a lot more enjoyable.
In March, I took a trip to Flagstaff, AZ with the distance squad of the track team; I also began my last track season. The trip was super rewarding and pleasant. The track season started off moderately well.
In April, I had my revisit to Georgetown. When I came back, I was super upset that it would be another 5 months before I started college.
In May-early June, shit got real. Hotchkiss was ending. I enjoyed every day of it. I finally broke 9:00 in the 3000m. I took in the school’s landscape. I cried like a baby at graduation. On the second to last day, I went down to the lake by myself after a hard track workout and sat in the water for a while. Everything felt okay. Everything felt very, very wrong. I wanted to cry and to be 14 again. Nowadays, I always want to be 14 again. I will never, ever be 14 again.
In June, I went to Colombia with Nic. It was amazing and overwhelming. My Spanish got good, and then, as soon as I returned, it was bad again.
In late June, July, and August, I trained my ass off in hopes of hitting Georgetown’s walk-on standard of 15:00 in the 5000m. I ran 15:19, and was denied. But the racing was fun, and I’m proud of what I did.
In late August, I started at Georgetown. God, that feels like forever ago. I met a ton of people. I got super overwhelmed. I got burnt out almost immediately. I started marathon training (which has been extremely difficult and extremely rewarding).
In September, I found my groove academically, and in October, I promptly lost my groove. By this point, I had met a ton of amazing people, and became closer with a few people who I knew already. But I also began to feel very overwhelmed by the task of both pursuing a career (academics, applications, etc.) and pursuing personal growth (making friends, sustaining relationships, treating my body with kindness, not viewing myself as an infinite project, reading, being a good son, being a good stranger, etc.) To be clear, I still feel overwhelmed— I don’t want to imply that I got over all of 2023’s problems.
In November, shit got super real. Classes got hard. I made new friends. I got super injured, healed, got injured again, healed, got sick, got better, and got sick again. When finals season began, I was super excited— I love finals season, mostly because it allows me to make my own schedule and, yes, because it promises potential academic validation (yuck, that sounded gross).
In December, I took my finals and returned home. And then I got really sick (exactly one year after wisdom tooth surgery. God has a sense of humor). I recovered, and then my right leg started hurting right in the middle of an 80-mile training week. I iced it a ton, and prayed that it would be ready for the 20-mile run I had scheduled for December 31st. That’s tomorrow. God, I hope it feels better tomorrow.
Basically, the year was very overwhelming, really exciting, and delivered in opportunities for personal growth. I really don’t know if I grew at all this year, to be honest. I hope I did. But, if I didn’t, I know I still got something out of it, because I made some friends that have absolutely changed my life. I did learn a ton, like everyone did- I learned the thing about the pop-tarts. I learned about Iris Murdoch and Dubois and Renaissance Italy and the political internship application process. I also glimpsed, a few times, for a few moments, that beautiful truth of personhood which I will never develop the vocabulary to articulate. It has something to do with food, lakes, and the people you love- god, it always, always, always, has something to do with the people you love.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-R.F.