My last semester of college was a total blowoff. I already had enough credits to graduate at the end of the previous term, but I figured that since I was on scholarship, I might as well use the remaining time to really lock down a job. One fell into my lap over the break, but it was too late to withdraw my registration and file for graduation. And that wasn’t all. My GPA was such that I could’ve failed every single class in that final semester and still graduated. And finally, the job was all the way across the country …
In short, absolutely nothing I did, or didn’t do, that final semester meant anything at all. I was as responsibility-free as an “adult” human can ever hope to get.
This had some interesting consequences. I got laid a lot more, for one thing — sorry about the crudity, but it’s a great illustration of the principle. The principle being: “When you truly don’t care, you project this invincible vibe that attracts people.” My friends were all shocked — not just about the getting laid part, but the fact that my whole personality seemed to change. I am not, as you might imagine, the most outgoing, happy-go-lucky guy, but that semester I was.
I mean, why not? I’d hit on varsity cheerleaders and sorority goddesses. I turned in wildly counter-intuitive assignments, just to see what would happen. I signed up for Intro to Conversational Chinese. Totally bombed it, but seriously, why not? I’ve always wanted to know if I have a knack for languages (turns out I don’t), and that was the hardest one in the course catalog. So long as I stayed alive and out of jail, I could do whatever the hell I wanted … so I did.
The lesson I drew from this: Certainty is liberation. It’s bliss. I still had anxieties, of course — e.g. how was I going to do in my new life, all the way across the continent? — but in my current context, I had no worries at all. I was King of the Dorm, because, quite simply, I could afford to be. I had three hots and a cot, endless free time, and a give-a-damn meter stuck on zero.
If I were quicker on the uptake, I’d have identified that instant as my turn to the Shitlord side of the Force. What in god’s name am I doing, hitting on the homecoming queen? Doesn’t matter. She could blow me off so viciously that dudes three blocks over would wince and cover themselves,* and I couldn’t care less. Why not shoot for the moon? If I win, I’m a dorm legend; if I fail, I’m still a dorm legend for having the balls to try it. In two months, I’ll be a thousand miles away and nobody will care about either of us.
*She didn’t. She didn’t go out with me, of course, but she was very nice and gracious, as most truly pretty girls are. Another valuable lesson learned.
Severian, “The Emotion is the Tell”, Rotten Chestnuts, 2020-01-24.
