Despite lowering the blinds and turning down the lights, my room remained fully illuminated-the whole of it seemed, almost, to glow. And there I was: fully clothed, laying face up in bed, feeling like I knew the word “catatonic” intimately. I watched the blades of my ceiling fan beat by and smiled at the thought of sleep. But even as the pneumatic hum coaxed my eyes closed, I couldn’t help but feel reality’s clammy grip. You see, I was stuck by the thought that I might never enjoy such a luxury again: it wasn’t yet noon, and I was settling down for a nap.
Now, though I may be poorly informed as to life outside our ivory towers, this much I know to be true: it is a hard, unwavering fact that mid-day naps are a rare thing in the working world. In fact, one might effectively argue that if you’re taking them, you’re almost surely doing something wrong. And so, ready for repose though I was, I struggled with restful sleep; I had been, yet again, rudely reminded that my days of such serenity are numbered.
Which brings me to the subject at hand: what might life after this fine University resemble? What might I find myself doing next November, if not napping peacefully? Where will you, dear reader, find yourself occupied?
Surely, work-the kind accompanied by handsome ties and balding, perspiring middle managers-is the most obvious answer. Still, I thought it might be worthwhile to profile one gentleman who has bucked tradition, parental adoration and a regular paycheck. He has frolicked full-bore out into the big, bad world and he’s done it on a path less worn. With this in mind, I present to you Peter Harper-an admirable, endearing and poorly paid young man who has chosen a less orthodox course.
Peter Harper is 22 years old and due to be 23 in February. Mr. Harper graduated from Amherst College last year with a degree in history. His first calendar year outside the confines of Amherst proper has been, by all accounts, agreeable. In fact, our present inquiry finds Peter in New York City, living comfortably in a loft described as “worth visiting.” He has, however, decided against applying his prestigious education to the likes of gainful, regular employment and has chosen, instead, to follow what some might refer to as his “heart.” While an overwhelming majority of his classmates have donned three-piece suits and chased the clarion call of cash, Mr. Harper has, at least for the moment, embraced poverty.
Mr. Harper wants, and for this I have nothing but the purest admiration and envy, to be paid for playing music. Or, more accurately, Peter is being paid to play music-and apparently, he’s playing a lot of it. He has teamed up with a fellow Amherst alumnus and he is, slowly and with dogged persistence, laying siege to the good people of New York. (For those so inclined, you can sample Mr. Harper’s music at www.peteandj.com.)
When interviewing Peter for this sprawling, tangential editorial, I asked him to describe an average day. He informed me that on most mornings, he rises around 9 a.m., enjoys a brief jog and then gets down to the business of self-promotion. (For those of us who know Peter, it’s plain to see that this comes naturally.) He spends most afternoons calling promoters, booking shows and, as his trade requires, playing music. He estimates that an average day might include more than four or five hours of practice.
As you might imagine, there are some important ways in which our lifestyles differ: when night falls, while I spend my evenings absorbing the ramblings of authors long since passed, Peter sings to New York. While I highlight and reread, Peter endures the advances of scantly clad New York hipsters-both men and women alike. While I compose soon-to-be unread articles, he plots for stardom. And, obviously, it’s clear which one of us is having more fun. His office is, literally, a bar.
And yet, once you remove the Jager bombs and the one-night stands, Peter’s pursuit of music is still a job-and one with, in many ways, much higher stakes. More than anything else, what emerged from the interview was the sense that Peter is taxed with all the responsibilities traditional employment requires. But, unlike most, Peter is working on his own behalf. He is motivated like few I know, because his successes and failures are truly his own-his future rests in his hands alone. And failure doesn’t mean a slower climb toward VP of Marketing, failing means giving up on what you love. It means hanging your head, admitting defeat and putting aside your dream.
What lessons can we draw from Mr. Harper’s brave stand? First, and most importantly, dreams-far-fetched though they may be-are worth long, hard consideration. Second, regardless of your field, good things come to those who earn it-and this is a rule that has no exception. And finally, though I’m not sure where exactly the role of fun fits into the rubric of life’s goals, he seems to be having a lot of it. So, dust off that guitar in your closet, step into some leather pants, and buy a pair of tickets for the big city. I’ll see you there.
Zach is a senior in Arts & Sciences.