I welcomed the
undergraduate into my office and had her take a seat. She was
well-dressed by campus standards, polite and attentive, and appeared eager to
please. The word “wholesome” came to mind. She was an engineering major and I wanted
to know what influences had gone into that choice of education and future career. I
got the usual boilerplate about wanting to change the world and make a difference,
so I probed a bit deeper but she didn’t seem to fit the customary engineer
profile.
She hadn’t played
with Legos as a kid, solved math puzzles, played chess or built her first
computer by age ten. STEM didn’t seem to engage her intellectually. I asked if
any books had influenced her. She said she didn’t read much and had never been
in the university library except during the orientation tour. I asked what she
did for fun. “Hang out with my friends.” Any complaints about life at
the university? “It’s kind of boring. There’s nothing to do.” She's clearly intelligent and didn’t appear depressed.
That pretty
much finished our conversation. She remains a cipher, though it seems
significant that she checked her smartphone several times during our interview.
I’ve never understood being bored. There are boring people and boring
situations, but there’s never a good reason for me to be bored. I felt sorry
for this undergraduate. She has the privilege of getting a first-rate education
and access to much of the world’s knowledge and art, most of it free of charge,
and that seems not to interest her much.
Rereading
the late Clive James, I came across this in his introduction to Cultural
Amnesia (2007): “There is too much to appreciate.” Mozart, he notes, never
heard all of Bach. “We can hear everything by both of them.” He writes:
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