By Dave Pavlansky
 
Since I’ve been at ONU, I’ve flown under one slogan: “To good friends and bad decisions.” On the surface, it appears to be cue to raise a glass and drain it, which I’ll admit is a function the phrase fills; but it can be taken a bit deeper than that.
What is a bad decision? Can you fully understand any decision without making it? Of course not. We can easily make an estimation of whether a decision is good or bad, for example “One should not mix KFC, ice cream, and gin.” Many of you probably became queasy just reading that sentence, but the friend that was with me on that particular night feels a unique revulsion that actually comes from experience.
I’m going to have to apologize to her now, should she be reading this, because this experience probably isn’t one she had in mind when she opened the paper and has now been forced to relive it.  But this presents another sort of question. Why would mentioning this experience bring a special sort of negative novelty if the decision has been made and the consequences have already been felt? It’s because we aren’t the sum total of our experiences; we are the sum total of the experiences we choose to acknowledge.
On the practical side of things, many of us will have some sort of “internship” we need to complete. We do these things because we can find truths in these experiences that we can find and apply later in our jobs. Things like “When you’re in a factory, parts of machines that don’t seem hot often are” or “If you’re behind a pharmacy counter, elderly people will often talk to you about their perscriptions for no less than 45 minutes, regardless of whether or not you have a line.” But why does useful experience have to stop there? Life is a lot like your job; if it’s easy there’s a good chance you’re doing it improperly. Your entire life is full of experiences like these if you choose to look for them.
I’ve been gifted in that I’ve seen and done a lot of things. I once held an Olympic bronze medal in a Hooters in Atlanta. The fact that this happened let me know that strange things can and do happen, as well as if you use the pick up line “Hey, I have an Olympic bronze” and can back it up with evidence, you’re probably going to get a phone number. Most profoundly, people who have accomplished great things still enjoy simple pleasures, in this case hot wings.
On a different trip, I met a man who would likely have been the fastest 400m dash runner in the world had Hitler not invaded Poland. My father was the reason I was there, because he’s into that sort of thing, and we stood in line for an autograph. In the meantime I struck up a conversation with a seven-foot tall former hammer thrower with a Swedish accent. I found out that he had once let go of a hammer too early and completely destroyed a set of wooden bleachers.
When my father and I reached the front of the line, I met the single most terrifying man I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to on this planet. By this time, the 400m runner was elderly. In fact, he was one of the few living people I’ve seen that’s smaller than I am. He had to be helped to his seat and was wearing an ugly monotone maroon suit.  But when he began talking, his eyes flashed and cut right through me. In that instant, I was more afraid of him than the massive human destructive force I had been speaking to moments before. Presence isn’t something that comes from how large you are physically, but from something inborn.
I could keep rattling off things that I’ve learned, but that would bore you. Every experience is individual and even shared experiences will mean different things to the individuals involved. The question is, where is the truth for you? The whole time you’re here, you’re amassing experience. There are things that are obvious, like learning the stages of mitosis or what to do with dative verbs. There are also things that have biology attached to them, like being unable to drink Southern Comfort. Then there are things that you’ll miss if you don’t look for them. While you’re here, look around at what you’re doing occasionally. An experience isn’t an experience unless you acknowledge it and assign meaning to it, no matter how small.  What have you learned today?
 
-Dave Pavlansky is the Op/Ed Editor of the Northern Review. Questions for his advice column can be sent to AskDaveStuff@gmail.com