#71, July 11, 2001
Time travel is theoretically possible, say the physicists.
But the requirements are rather forbidding, as it involves shrinking your body
to the size of sand grain as it passes through a black hole. Compression
wouldn't be a problem, but the recovery might be dicey.
I revisited my college years last week, using more
conventional methods time travel. My son Tyler is just over a year from his
college adventure. He and I drove south to visit some of the campuses to which
he may apply. For me, it was the first time returning since graduation.
Tyler and I attended an orientation at UC Santa Barbara,
presented by one of their Admissions Counselors. "I just graduated with a
Batchelors in Bio-Psychology," she told the group of 50 parents and
prospective students. "Now, what do you think I can do with that
degree?" "Admissions
Counselor!" I shouted from the back row. She kindly did not call Security
on me, but went on to say she could do "anything I want." Her point,
with which I heartily agree, is that your college years can prepare you for
"the real world" in many more ways than putting "course
content" into your long term memory.
First is figuring out what you might want to do (or at
least, what you don't want to do.) I started at UC Irvine in 1970 as an
Engineering major, destined, I believed, to somehow engineer solutions to the
environmental crisis. What I learned most in those first few months was that I
was going to be better at words than numbers, and enjoy more focusing on the
social and political part of the ecological revolution. I ended up transferring
to UCSB and graduating with a degree in Environmental Studies.
I'm not writing Environmental Impact Reports or managing
some Federal energy program, although at times during my twenty five years
since graduation I did things similar to that. More important than the facts or
instructions I can recall is my experience with systems analysis, critical
thinking, and persuasive writing and speaking. And I often learned these skills
off-campus, in creating a recycling program at Irvine and a natural foods coop in
Isla Vista, for example, in addition to formal assignments made in class.
College is a time to start (but not necessarily stop)
experimentation and serious, life changing adventure. It's the
leaving home stage of the mythical "hero's journey." For me, I'm glad
I can still remember the Latin names of my favorite flowers, like the Phacelia
bicolorsomethingorother. But I hold more dear my memory of losing the fear of the wilderness, when I
ventured for days into the Santa Ynez Mountains. I can still see the moonlight
in the dewdrops on those flowers, hear the coyotes howling nearby.
Outside of the classroom, I learned about meditation through
a love relationship that never blossomed. By necessity, I learned how to eat
healthy and cheap, "low on the food chain." Away from my
"short-hair" dad, I learned what it was like to have a pony tail, and
that it's not easy to give yourself a good haircut. And I met Karen, my life
partner. We would sit up in a Cypress tree at the edge of the Pacific, holding
hands, watching amber and azure sunsets.
Tyler and I stood on that same bluff, overlooking a surf
break where I spent many happy hours between my academic pursuits. The combined
aroma of salt water, kelp, and the ever-present tar seep was unmistakable,
potent, and a most effective time machine. For a few moments, I was in 1974. It
felt wonderful. It would be tempting to go back if I could, but my adventure
lies ahead, not behind.
For some people, perhaps Tyler, their future
"success" will depend on getting into "the best" school and
graduating "at the top" of their class. I only hope that in selecting
a college, and pursuing his education adventure, that he will give it his best. And I hope that he finds his
path of lifelong learning, one that will bring
joy both in memories and in the here-and-now.