Losing the Plot

At the end of World War I and the pandemic of 1918, Harvard students rejoiced. The woes of the war—in which 11,319 University alumni, undergraduates, and faculty fought—and the grip of influenza—which infected 258 students in one year—finally lifted from the shoulders of the undergraduate body. Campus quarantine periods ended, distancing guidelines subsided, and masks were no longer donned. Beyond the gates of Harvard, technology proliferated, the stock market soared, and a culture of decadence flourished. The Roaring Twenties began. 

A century later, we find ourselves in a similar historical moment—or rather, yearning to approach it. The pandemic has taken many tolls, and people dream of indulging in all they have sacrificed this past year and a half. Yale sociologist and physician Nicholas Christakis imagines that once COVID-19 recedes from the U.S. landscape, “People will relentlessly seek out social interactions in nightclubs, in restaurants, in bars, in sporting events and musical concerts and political rallies. We might see some sexual licentiousness,” he ventures. “We’ll be living in a changed world.” 

Harvard students ache for this changed world. Though COVID-19 mutations continue to delay the prospects of a “post-pandemic” era, the return to campus this fall rings with excitement.

“This year, I’m looking forward to living with my close friends and finally experiencing everything Harvard has to offer,” said Hunter Gallo ’24, one of many who are eager to socialize again. “I have three years left and I intend to fill them to the brim,” echoed Aurelia Balkanski ’24. 

But a counterargument to the prevailing spirit of exuberance deserves some recognition. What is lost when we return to in-person life? Will we sacrifice the peaceful solitude granted by the pandemic for the thrill of socialization, as students did a century ago?

“Life is not plot, it’s in the details,” wrote author Jodi Picoult. College life typically feels like it’s all about planning for the plot, taking incremental steps toward a lofty future goal. From the moment we arrive on campus freshman year, we crave the next best credential. So we attend every meeting, complete every checklist, and meet every job recruiter. Productivity trumps stillness, and quick rewards trump patience.

The pandemic provided a refuge from this chaos. It jolted us from our plots. We didn’t have to run between classes or clutter our weekends with social activity. Our schedules exhaled with emptiness, and our minds had extra room to sit and speculate. For the first time for many of us, we stopped chasing the credentials, and discovered that following the plot may actually guide us away from our true ambitions.

Perhaps we need to rethink the current notion of productivity. “When you press the pause button on a machine, it stops. But when you press the pause button on human beings they start,” writes columnist and businessman Dov Seidman in the 2016 book Thank You for Being Late. “You start to reflect, you start to rethink your assumptions, you start to reimagine what is possible and, most importantly, you start to reconnect with your most deeply held beliefs. Once you’ve done that, begin to reimagine a better path.” 

Like other students who continued to take classes this past year, I discovered newfound space for stillness in my everyday. I slept more, walked about in nature, and let my mind scale mountains of my own creation. I dwelled on the details. This led to more creative writing, more reading, the discovery of new hobbies and a return to those I had previously forgotten. I thought of 17th century philosopher Blaise Pascal. “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone,” he wrote. The pandemic taught me to sit quietly—and though I didn’t enjoy the occasional bouts of boredom, I learned that there’s a subtle power in stillness.

In fact, COVID-19’s disruption of normal life in many ways increased productivity. Freer or more flexible schedules afforded many students an opportunity to think deeply and indulge their creativity. Those who pressed pause on their college careers to take a leave of absence pressed play on so much else—they created companies, built magazines, explored the landscape of America from a car window. Clearly, they were productive—but they were on a new path, which they could only embark on once the fast-paced tempo of college life relaxed, and the freedom to pursue a new plot emerged. 

Pausing also grants perspective. “In each pause I hear the call,” wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson in his 1904 essay, “Walden.” Students who took time off express intent and clarity toward their remaining time at Harvard—perhaps they’ve heard their call. “I look forward to returning to Harvard where I will engage with faculty, courses, and fellow students guided by my intellectual curiosity, rather than a preconceived notion of what one ought to do career-wise,” said Jake Laddis ’24, who remains unenrolled this fall as he works for a real estate startup. Noah Evers ’24 came to a similar realization after taking a gap year to build his own startup: “I have realized that college is such a magical moment of life where I can just learn for learning’s sake.” 

Before the pandemic, many students chose their academic studies based on predictions of what would nail them the right “plot”—say, majoring in Economics rather than Classics. Now, they plan to enroll in courses they genuinely enjoy, even if the prospect of tangible rewards is less clear. The course “Greek Epigraphy” may not be considered the most employable transcript credential, but shouldn’t you take it if it fascinates you? That’s the kind of detail you’ll remember once your narrative is complete. 

The pandemic is far from over, and for many, the Roaring 2020’s is still just a dream. It remains to be seen whether parallels will continue to be drawn between our current decade and that of a century ago, or if these paths of history will diverge. What is certain is that for all the horrors, losses, and disappointments of this pandemic, we’ve gained something that could only glide into our realm of vision once the checklists disappeared from our eyelids at night. 

As we enter this fall, let’s balance our drive for high-speed socializing with the sacredness of slowing down and sitting still. “Losing the plot” doesn’t mean losing our direction—it means finding it, by living in the details. 

Mary Julia Koch ’23 (mkoch@college.harvard.edu) wants you to take a deep breath, right now.