THE WIDENING GULF

Pomp and circumstance is playing; odd, flat-topped hats are being tossed; cars and vans are being packed. It is graduation season, and, for the first time in quite a few years, I feel oddly aligned with those robed marchers collecting their diplomas today – or at least the rolled-up place holders feigning officialdom until the genuine artifacts make the journey by mail four to six weeks later. While my undergraduate days lie deep in my past – or so it seems sometimes – I, too, have been tapping into the transitional anxiety that is the hallmark of commencements everywhere.

Last night I had planned to write about that sense of flux and expectation that accompanies this time of the year. I had one of my favorite quotations at the ready, when the world intruded – as usual. So, today I shall attempt to bring together my gathering thoughts and the invading world. This afternoon John Adams [the second president of the United States], Evan Pinto [a graduating senior from the New School University], and Nelly Furtado [the pop star] shall have a conversation.

There is a John Adams quotation that has slumbered somewhere in my head off and on for the past fifteen years, which has recently awakened into my consciousness again.

My religion is founded on the love of God and my neighbor; on the hope of pardon for my offenses; upon contrition; upon the duty as well as the necessity of [enduring] with patience the inevitable evils of life; in the duty of doing no wrong, but all the good I can, to the creation of which I am but an infinitesimal part.

While I have never mustered a faith in god or religion for myself, these words from Adams explain my anxiety now as well as they did twelve years ago when I marched down Middle Path to receive my first post-secondary diploma. In these words I find voice for my anxiety – an Enlightenment precursor to the Serenity Prayer, eschewing the self-help niceties. Here I encounter my greatest anxiety, the concern over what “infinitesimal part” I will be. My greatest fear is of not being a part, of contributing nothing of import – though I must admit it is often unclear whether this is really a masked desire to be important.

Whatever my motivation may be, though, I continually return to this concern as the central issue of the transitional anxiety that has accompanied each of my commencement ceremonies, including the figurative one of my present situation. But apparently this is not a universal sentiment. Yesterday afternoon, while listening to NPR, I heard a report on the ill-fated commencement ceremony at the New School University. They invited Senator McCain to deliver the address. While many of the students protested and heckled (rather impolite of them) I was most disturbed by the comments of one Evan Pinto [sp?] – a graduating senior – after the ceremony:

You know, I just spent the last three years of my life sitting at my desk doing homework and I wanted some recognition for that. I didn’t wanna… I didn’t want to have to listen to somebody think about what he thinks the world needs to do. I put a lot of solo, isolated work into myself the last three years, and I want recognition for that.

I don’t know what gap I feel between this student and myself – along with the doubtless thousands of like-minded students receiving their degrees this spring. Perhaps it is age, economics, or simply the nostalgic perspective I undoubtedly feel toward my own undergraduate commencement those many years ago. It is not even that large of a gap, just a mingling of anxieties. Between John Adams and Evan Pinto we see the dual pulls of egoism and altruism, of the past and the future. Between these two quotations we find transitional anxiety.

Mr. Pinto has missed something about his graduation: the fact that it was a Commencement ceremony. It is not accidental that the primary definition of “commencement,” the collegiate degree conferral ceremony, is “The action or process of commencing; beginning; time of beginning.” Pinto’s words, though understandable, distress me – not so much for their self-congratulating desires, but for their regressive fixation on the past.

This is the nature of transitional anxiety; it is the problematic negotiation of the past and the future, even as the present seems insignificant in the face of these dual pulls. Transitions are inherently about being in between; positionality is entirely in flux. In this light Pinto’s words are perhaps understandable as a reactionary response, dealing with the uncertainty of tomorrow by overemphasizing the value of his past – though I nevertheless find it disturbing that he doesn’t want to hear about the world; he just wants to be praised for doing his homework.

So, as I was thinking through these issues last night, pondering the relationship between Adams’ humility and Pinto’s, well, lack thereof, a third position popped up, one that completely abnegates both the past and the future – perhaps abnegating all potential for anxiety: Nelly Furtado’s new singles as performed on Saturday Night Live. I do not know if you caught the act, but it was – how should I put this – special. Not only did feminism suffer at Ms. Furtado’s hands – or vocal chords – but so did intelligent thought:

[this is a duet, in case you don’t already know]
Timberland:
Promiscuous girl
Wherever you are
I’m all alone
And it's you that I want

Nelly Furtado:
Promiscuous boy
You already know
That I’m all yours
What you waiting for?

Timberland:
Promiscuous girl
You're teasing me
You know what I want
And I got what you need

Nelly Furtado:
Promiscuous boy
Let's get to the point
Cause we're on a roll
Are you ready?

Roses are red
Some diamonds are blue
Chivalry is dead
But you're still kinda cute

“Promiscuous Girl” – the first single from her new album “Loose” – puts aside forethought and questions of past or future considerations in favor of the immediate present – the “I am here now and might as well do something to fill the present moment” school of thought. This, too, may be a response to some cultural anxiety – or just pandering to adolescent misconceptions of adulthood. I may be wrong, but I get the sense that this is tapping into a larger social sensibility, one that is lacking a sense of historic connectedness – either to past or to potential future. Not that this is a new phenomenon in popular music – in fact, it is more probably the norm – but Furtado’s response seems a singularly hopeless worldview.

[Though I also get the sense that this may have been an ill-conceived attempt at rejecting sexual double standards – the Spice Girls gone pseudo-gangster – that fell profoundly short of the mark. See the final lines of Promiscuous: “Promiscuous Boy; we're one and the same; so we don't gotta play games no more.”]

Anxiety is a strange thing; when facing it, it seems an inescapable condition. Adams, Pinto, and Furtado each seem to be attempting to cope with their anxiety about their roles in the world. [Adams once said of his vice-presidency under George Washington: “My country has in its wisdom contrived for me the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived or his imagination conceived.”] Adams seems to have had a firmer grasp on the world than I do at the moment, but I have to believe I am following a better course than the other two.

To be honest, I am not quite sure where this all ends up. Perhaps more than usual, I am using the blog today to write though the anxiety pounding in my ears for the past few days. But then, I now can happily amuse myself by imagining what a conversation between Adams, Pinto, and Furtado might be like, although every permutation I invent ends up with a heavy dose of whining, some inappropriate sexual advances, and John Adams bitch-slapping the other two in a fit of righteous indignation. Hooray for righteous indignation!