I am the first to admit that I am not the type of person you could accurately refer to as "intellectually curious." This is not to say that I am without interests. On any given day, I can tell you the top three moneymakers at the weekend box office, prattle on about my newest favorite indie rock band (that I will probably claim is "so underground" but who I really found on the iTunes sponsored mix "Must Have 2000's Indie Rock!" -- I'm such a poser) and run down the latest college football scores. But hand me a book with a title like "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" or similar and I am likely to use it as a drink coaster. I just don't buy the idea of bettering myself through academia.
My father can certainly attest to this. Back in my younger days, he would accompany me to the bookstore and dutifully fill our shopping cart to its limits with hardbound, beautifully written books full of glossy pictures of horses, manatees, ballerinas or whatever else caught my fleeting interest that day. I, however, was only concerned with loading up on Sweet Valley Twins books. My father's expensive purchases on my behalf would sit neglected on my bookshelves collecting dust for years while I gleefully re-read my newest Sweet Valley book for the 27th time. I would like to say that I have cultivated more of an intellectual taste in leisure reading since then, but, as I look at the bright orange book on my nightstand titled simply, "Bling!" it is clear I cannot.
Given my aversion to most brands of academia, it is therefore somewhat surprising that I chose to stray from the history department (where I am an academic stud because I discovered early on that the only trick to getting A's is to write papers that overuse phrases like "essentially" and "conversely" instead of making an actual argument) and take a class on Buddhism in Asian societies. If you ask me, this is an important step down the road to enlightenment. So what if I'm taking it pass/fail, my attendance has been a little spotty and every time someone brings up the term "nirvana" I have the urge to break into a rousing rendition of "Smells Like Teen Spirit"? Hear me out. I have learned some important stuff, specifically about a little concept known as karma.
To paraphrase loosely (remember, I'm not taking the class for a grade), Buddhist doctrine basically defines karma as a scoreboard of all the good and bad deeds a person has done in their lifetime. Score some good karma points, get reincarnated as something wonderful -- like Gisele. Screw your karma up, get relegated to a lifetime as a being hated by screaming throngs of thousands -- like Al Groh (sorry Al, but until you start mixing up the play calling and change your game day attire to something other than a grungy sweater I wouldn't be caught mowing the lawn in, I can't support you).
After a while, all the talk of good and bad deeds made me consider the cosmic balance of my own University karma. I definitely racked up some good karma living in on-Grounds housing a year longer than necessary (anyone who does so should be considered for sainthood). I also deserve some good karma for all the trips I have made to Student Health courtesy of Virginia's hateful weather and treacherous terrain. After my most recent trip to Student Health, this time because of a nasty concussion-causing fall, I realized everyone who works there knows me by first name. I have begun to suspect my many X-rays and prescription-fillings may be single-handedly keeping the enterprise in business. I have also made a concerted effort to "dance with my girls!" more and grind with cute, if slightly sketchy, strangers less. If that doesn't warrant some positive karma, nothing does.
But there have undoubtedly been things I've done that have thrown me out of favor with the universe. I eat grapes before I pay for them at Harris Teeter and sometimes I call the tow truck on people parked in my apartment's lot even if I don't need the space. I have doled out some sub-par treatment to ex-boyfriends and have treated guys I wish would be my boyfriend in an even more confusing manner. I have skipped group meetings (can you really blame me, universe?) and have cheated at drinking games. If you have played flip cup with me in the past and haven't picked up on this, you were either very oblivious or very drunk. Either way, my karma suffers.
Admittedly, I'm no angel. But much to my dismay, I haven't exactly been effective at being a devil-may-care badass either. This puts me in the unfortunate position of karma purgatory, meaning that I'll probably come back in my next life as a mildly self-obsessed fourth-year columnist with an affinity for sleeping until noon, but who has classes starting at 11 -- such torture. There's probably still time left to repair my damaged karma, but if it involves retracting my thoughts on Coach Groh's sweatshirt, thanks but no thanks. I'll take my chances with the universe.
Erin's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. She can be reached at gaetz@cavalierdaily.com.
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