Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Against my better judgment, despite every inkling to turn tail and run, I signed up for the programming committee, driven by some vestigial notion of duty. Be assured that raising my hand was in direct contravention to my standard operating procedure, which is not raising my hand, then disappearing. So why did I do it?

It certainly wasn’t a keen sense of optimism that drove me to action. Let me paint a likely trajectory for you. There will be reply-all strings about 20 e-mails deep (already happened, so I’m cheating here). There will be sporadic attendance at the in-person meetings. There will be a last-minute crush when the inaugural event nears, as people try to wrest time from their normal lives to pool into a blatantly manufactured community. There will be the actual event, followed by a sigh of relief. And then the cycle will repeat, over and over, as long as a quorum of members retains the wherewithal to meet for reasons unfathomable.

When you think about it, that’s the ultimate purpose of an alumni association, is it not? To foster a community that in turn fosters donations. You may already be privy to my decidedly grim view of higher education: namely, that it is one of the few products known to man that calls for you to continue paying, even after you’ve paid in full. Additionally, participating in these events also carries with it a strange vibe, kinda like how you’re that one guy who’s long since graduated, yet is unable to stay away from campus.

But I’m intent on at least making it through the kick-off event. I’m trying to infuse myself with the spirit of possibility here, rather than pessimism. Maybe I could be somebody who wouldn’t even think to write the preceding three paragraphs, a content worker bee, happy with my piece of the hive. Maybe I could be somebody who celebrates the notion of a shared alma mater. And maybe I could be somebody who isn’t compelled to squash content worker bees.