one of these things first

i'm seven hours back in boston, fifty-three minutes out of mother's day, sitting in the dining hall, one of three students, the only one ostensibly not working---watching the janitor (one of many, i assume) clean up the intransigences of harvard students. it's odd. i try to take lessons away from every trip i take--every vacation should yield the fruits of introspection and self-discovery--and this one was no different. it hardened my resolve, confirmed my suspicions.

i don't know what i'm doing anymore.

that is, i'm not quite sure if i'm doing the right things; --and, if i am doing the right things, if i'm doing them the right way. the dichotomy between right and wrong--morality and moral depravity, more likely--has always bothered me. i'm no longer sure of where i land once i jump. am i somewhere in the middle? do i straddle the line between right and wrong, morality and moral depravity? do i give in too soon and too quickly? do i give in at all?

i feel as if i have limitless personalities and lives to choose from, and i'm afraid i'll pick the wrong one.

i don't want to give in, but i don't know what i'd give in to. my moral compass is always changing its weight. the needle points in various directions before settling on one for a time; and any given direction is subject to change without notice. notwithstanding the obvious restrictions, the fury of condemnation often gives way to the reticence of detente, and the ebb and flow of my moral jockeying relax until gradual acceptance--if disapproval--soothes the stream. pulled in too many directions, my conscious doesn't know where or when to settle. it's constantly shifting, arbitrary, betrayed by careless words and obscured by justifications, rationalities, apologies.

and yet, despite the turmoil, i seem to know where i'm headed.

but clarity has its price, an absolution and devotion to structures of black and white. i refuse to pay it. i shall take vacillation--that is, moral uncertainty--to rigid orthodoxy any day. for while orthodoxy makes for easy resolutions, it leaves no room for error; instant resolve doesn't deign to consider its ramifications or uncertainties. with vacillation--or, more immodestly, consideration--i view each perspective; i leave no stone unturned, no possibility unimagined. that isn't to say that i'm always right---it is only to say that i examine my options.

i don't know whether this society is for me.

i at once value harvard and detest it. i adore the opportunities it has afforded me, generously and graciously. and i abhor the sense of privilege it has created. before i left for college, before the good-byes, my mother demanded of me just one thing: i should never, ever, forget my roots or the life i've led. my family's sacrifices, hardships, adversities, brief glimpses of comfort, long views of dark vistas---these are things one shouldn't forget, things that teach more than textbooks and seminars. my life, as told by my mother, is one of extraordinary promise, one surprisingly unhindered by the forces that have restrained my family. i should save, plan ahead, live humbly, speak modestly, work diligently, act compassionately. i should never, ever, forget my roots.

and harvard, for all its pretenses of egalitarianism, has eroded that sense of modest nostalgia. frugality has ceded to excess, moderation to careless abandon. ordinary luxuries have been taken for granted, privilege has become a right. for all those who wish to change the world--to implement micro-finance, expand and environmental law, create sustainable communities and ease economic hardships--there are forty students begging for positions in morgan stanley and goldman sachs. greed is not good, and i'm afraid that its temptations have become too much.

it is that janitor whom i shall never forget. for all my desires, my excesses, my uncertainties, there is at least one thing of which i am assured: that man has lived a life less privileged than i, and it is to him that i owe my respect and humility. it is to him and everyone in his station that i owe my diligence, my conscience.

i can think of no better way to live.