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When we look at this time of year with a very realistic eye, the truth is painfully present: unless someone did something really nice for you on Valentine’s Day, there’s really nothing good about February. It’s one of those months you spend waiting for it to end.
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I was and remain ambivalent to the premise of common ground and more importantly the lack thereof. Namely, I feel that most common qualifiers are misnomers and artificial constructs.
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Can you imagine going to Carleton for eternity? An eternity of three-term years, an eternity of convo every Friday, Crack House every Wednesday, three-day fifth weekends, the occasional sighting of Schiller, the occasional all-nighter, the occasional hookup? After a while you’d have taken every course at Carleton.
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On my last run, as the stale smell of the turkey farm lingered in the air, I started to think about the direction I was running: East. Then I began to wonder, what if I just kept running? I began to envision myself on a map, little Maddy the Runner, heading down I-94, to Wisconsin, to the Great Lakes, home to Chicago, past Chicago to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maine, the salty Atlantic Ocean.
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In reality, there are very, very few inherently “bad people,” and I am convinced that if you or I were in the auspicious positions of these economic gurus, we would have done the same thing with the same catastrophic result. So, my worry is not about these lucky people in particular – they’re just humans. My worry is about emotional distance.
