That, anyway, is what I have learned.

            “A foolish man thinks himself to be wise. A wise man knows himself to be a fool.” This is a (modernized) quote by William Shakespeare and I couldn’t agree with him more. The more that I learn, the less I realize that I actually know. By learning just a little, I am educated in the fact that I am in reality uneducated, thus inspiring me to learn more. As soon as I tell myself that I am certain of anything, I give up the never-ending path to knowledge. To truly learn anything, it must always contain an element of mystery; otherwise, I am blinded by understanding. I have learned so much during the past few months that it seems as though I now know nothing all over again.

I know that I am not special, and that my journey is the exact same as countless told in mythology, no matter how displaced it may be. I know I am never alone; that someone else has felt my pain. Whether the story involves Hercules’s 12 trials, or my writing a 12-page essay, the similarities are arguably more prevalent than the differences. With an open mind and an active imagination, one can look at every situation in a positive light and realize that life really isn’t so serious, and it should exist purely to be enjoyed. I have learned that sometimes I really do just need to hug a tree. Trees give me life-supporting oxygen, shade, and peace; and ask for nothing in return. Really, hugging one is the least I can do. And why not? Should social stigmas really influence how we feel about ourselves? Who cares if that couple think you’re weird while you hug that oak? They’re the weird ones. Just ask the oak. Within reason, we should do whatever makes us happy, no matter what other people think of it. Life is too short to spend it doing anything that doesn’t make you a better person than you were the day before.

I know that the phrase that will signal my downfall is “…and then one day…” This is indicative of the safe, mundane, room temperature lives which we try to avoid living, though have a hard time escaping, until something drastic happens. This “one day” will be an exemplary enactment of Darwin’s survival of the fittest. If I survive this “one day,” I am sure I will have one hell of a story to tell. If I don’t survive, perhaps I was not meant to, and my journey will have reached an abrupt ending, hopefully sending me somewhere more desirable.

But until that day, I will live life to the fullest. I will hug a tree. I will be inspired. I will look at the mountains with the same awe and amazement as I did when first I laid eyes upon them. I have learned that instead of wondering what happens after my death, to consider instead what happened before my life. I was born in the northwest corner of Germany, in the farm country of Aurich. However, where was I one year before? I don’t remember…  Therefore, it couldn’t have been all that bad. So why worry? I have learned that my destination is the same as my point of origin. But that’s not what is important. Not yet at least. What is important is my journey between the beginning and the end. My journey is what will make my point of origin worth re-visiting. I will learn all that I can until the day of my death (and hopefully afterwards). My thoughts are the only possessions I’ll be able to bring with me wherever I end up, and it will be a true shame if I run out of things to think while I’m there. I don’t know how long it will be until I die. It could be tomorrow, it could be a hundred years from now. I just need to make sure I spend every waking moment productively.

I have learned the worst thing to be is plain. Ordinary. Lukewarm. Room temperature. Indifferent. These are the worst conditions in which to end your life. “Sebastian lived a safe, ordinary life and then one day… he died because his body ceased to function.” Not very interesting, right? Why do you think all the most epic gods didn’t die of old age? Instead they were killed by the most drastic methods imaginable, even by today’s standards. But I’m going off on a tangent. Although another thing Dr. Sexson has taught me is that when I go off on tangents, I’m really just elaborating. I wouldn’t be saying it if it didn’t matter. 

Thank you so much for an extremely entertaining and educational class, Dr. Sexson. MSU will miss you.