I had had my eyes on The Crimson beforeI was a freshman and was at the first comp meetingfreshman week. So, too, was a good portion of myclassmates. Intimidated, I sucked down one or twoof the beers they fed us and made a beeline out ofthe place. I also went to the Lampoon compmeeting and the same thing happened. I was afraidof failure, of not measuring up to snuff at thefamous institutions of the Big H. Afraid that Icouldn't do things well, I chose not to do them atall.
My recognition that if I were to do TheCrimson at all I would have to go at itfull-throttle also kept me away. That scared me,as did the horror stories of cut classes and lastminute maniacal cram sessions. As sophomore yearbegan, though, I decided to comp theCrimson's editorial board. It seemed theeasy way out--I could write short opinion piecesand get on the paper without going bonkers doingthe news comp.
Events kept me away from that comp, but byThanksgiving ambition and despair compelled mefinally to hitch on with The Crimson.Fortunately and unfortunately, my mocking disdainand unrepentant snidery enabled me to fit right inat 14 Plympton St. I had been floating throughHarvard for a year and a semester, but TheCrimson provided me with a personal and socialballast
I made friends and won valuable prizes atThe Crimson. But the atmosphere andattitude of the place, Which I soaked up andspewed back out, began to feel more and moreempty. In trying to make sense of this emptiness,I think I have come to understand--if notreconcile--the disparate tendencies within me, theconservative and the liberal the college studentand the homeboy.
What turned me off from the liberal politics ofThe Crimson was the utter certainty withwhich my colleagues held their opinions. They werenot only certain of what they thought, but of whateveryone else should think. What's changed in mehas been the cessation of my quest for certaintyor perfection. I don't expect it of myself or ofothers.
It was this desire to know everything beforecommitting myself that made me a vegetablefreshman year. I did not admit any variables intomy life or my politics. If I thought something, itwas possible and correct. If something wasrational to me, then surely it could and shouldhave been real and meaningful to everyone else.
One friend thinks that the desire--need?--to beliked is in itself an imperfection, a sign ofcowardice almost. Needless to say, I disagree.Getting along with others need not be the same asgoing along with them. Perhaps the most importantthing I have learned is when and how to shut up.Not every clever or cutting remark needs to gosaid. It's scary when I think of the cruel thingsI have said to people towards whom I felt nomalice. Given the set-up, I could not resist thepunchline.
I hope what I've been able to do is learn howto take what I do seriously, but myself less so.That's a distinction not always easy to maintain,but one that is nonetheless essential. But that'sthe only way the experience of living--and livingwith others--can displace the futile anddispiriting search for ultimate meaning as areason for getting out of bed in the morning. Thatis one thing, at least, of which I am certain.
Steven Lichtman was the '87-'88 deputyeditorial chairman of The Crimson.