“Are you… OK?”

Many of you have asked me this same question each time I have revealed my plans for a semester off.

The usual reply: “Yes, I’m totally fine—I just need some time away from Harvard” still applies, but maybe that answer’s just a little too neat. Yeah, I’m fine, but, at the same time, maybe I’m not. Maybe, just maybe, “being fine” is not where I (or you, for that matter) need to be right now. And, as John Bridger from the "Italian Job" tells us, “fine” really just stands for “Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”

So what I’m trying to tell you is that I didn’t decide to take time off, as many have assumed, because of any type of crisis. And, to avoid the wrath of the Jonathan Haidts of the world, I certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of catastrophizing.

As far as I can tell, I’ve had a pretty normal time at Harvard. It certainly came with my fair share of sophomore slump. But when the dust settled after year two—bringing with it a good deal more confidence in my “Harvard self” (apologies for the gag reflex)—I felt “fine” and pretty comfortable, at that.

“I’ve sort of got this Harvard-thing down,” I said to myself. And this seemed to be a real coup for someone who felt pretty lost just a few short months earlier. Importantly, many of my classmates don’t get to that place, from no fault of their own, as we are finally starting to talk about.

But along with my newfound ease came a new feeling—one that operated on a different plane than the disorientation of my sophomore year—a feeling that I couldn’t shake: I don’t think this is where I should be right now.

And here, I think, is the basis for that new dis-ease: There seemed to be a “Harvard path” on which I had finally found my footing. But the problems solved by finding that path—namely, shaking the feeling that I was lost in Harvard’s own Forbidden Forest—brought along with it a whole new set of angsty questions, like: Do I want to keep following this path to its end?

And what started to get me about the path was the neatness of it all—semesters, followed by summer internships, followed again by more of the same—a routine we all seem to follow quite diligently.

What they don’t tell you is that this routine is rigged. The path on which I had suddenly found myself was not my own existential, age-appropriate discovery. No, our school is “organizationally manufactur[ing]" our aspirations for certain careers. Or at the very least, our school tacitly approves of a system that allows a certain type of recruiting process to flourish, driving our choices in profound ways. But we all, at least to some degree, already know that, right?

And just like that, a whole new level of f'ed-up is added to our post-sophomore slump ease. Because if you “figured things out,” you actually just managed to stumble upon an already well-established, Harvard-approved, Ivy-League-certified path.

But this is not supposed to be some preachy piece (I can see you rolling your eyes) about what careers Harvard students should or shouldn’t pursue. I would be just as upset if Harvard was systematically attempting to churn out a legion of plumbers (well, actually, maybe not).

And, what’s more, I think a creeping awareness of this cognitive dissonance caused by the gap between our own actions and aspirations is what led some on our campus to get up-in-arms about the diversity placemats. “I don’t necessarily disagree with the content of the placemats; I just disagree with Harvard telling us how to think,” many of placemat-dissenters proclaimed. But sorry, that outrage was misplaced: When it comes to Harvard telling us how to think, diversity placemats are really not the problem. I promise.

To get to the point: the feeling that began to swell in me, prior to this last-minute decision to take a semester off, was an urge to disrupt it all. Because the effortlessness with which we all are able to follow this single path is, frankly, disturbing. And once aware of it, I needed—and the point of this piece is that I think some of you might need it as well—something a little bit more messy.

I can’t say what this disruptive messiness should look like for most of you. Maybe disruption happens for you with a change within the gates of Harvard. But beware: The Harvard bubble has obfuscating powers.

So, I’m off to New Orleans in search of a messier path (and believe me, I’ve certainly found something messy).

And hey, maybe I’ll come back to the “Harvard path.” Well, I probably won’t. But at least then, the decision will be my own.

Nick F. Barber ’17-’18 is taking time off to work for the public defender in New Orleans.