The other day, a friend and I were walking past the Memorial Student Center when from behind us came the clomping of sandals frantically slapping the pavement. Their owner dashed past, narrowly missing us with his swinging backpack and heading for an idling bus. No sooner had he stepped aboard did the vehicle close its doors.
My friend, upon witnessing this feat of punctuality, commented: “You know, I’d rather wait for the next bus than be seen running for it.”
At first, I was inclined to agree — I’ve been known to wait a full light cycle at University Drive rather than dash across the crosswalk if I arrive at the intersection while the walk signal is already counting down. But I was struck with a rare moment of self reflection: why?
It wasn’t that the unexpected exercise was stopping me. It’s all very well to not want to dash around in the summer when the 100-degree heat will instantly make you regret it, but I’ve waited a light cycle in the wintertime, too.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t wearing the right shoes to run, or that I wasn’t late enough to warrant such an exertion. I came to the conclusion that it must be because I was worried about the audience. This is what my friend hit on as well — he’d rather wait than “be seen running for it.”
Why do we care so much about what other people see us do? People do much sillier things on this campus than running for buses or crosswalks. If you don’t believe me, just look at Barstool Texas A&M.
It’s time to shed these robes of worrying that we’ll be seen doing something. We’re here at A&M to do things, aren’t we? Why should we feel ashamed to be seen doing them?
I’ve heard similar sentiments expressed about running to class, chasing a hat after the wind has blown it off your head and even wearing a backpack, of all things.
It seems like being seen doing any one of a number of activities is undesirable because of what people will think of you, but I don’t see why that matters. Have you ever seen someone running for the bus and given them more than a passing thought?
And why is it undesirable? Running for the bus makes you feel uncool. Running for your hat makes you feel silly.
Come on, Aggies, where’s your whimsy? Where’s your enjoyment of life?
When I see someone running for the bus or the crosswalk, I don’t think about how uncool they are. I wonder what they’re running after. Is it a physics test? A lunch date? A class they really enjoy? Maybe they’re just looking for some midday cardio. To paraphrase Little Orphan Annie, maybe they’re running simply because it gets them places quicker. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
We need to shift our perspective, Ags. The world would be a much more whimsical, enjoyable place if we weren’t all so worried about looking silly. Silliness is a gift; foolishness is a virtue. The greatest decision I’ve ever made was when I gave up caring what other people thought about what I was doing, and you should do the same.
Now, mind you, this doesn’t mean flouncing around Simpson Drill Field naked because you’ve decided you no longer care about other people’s opinions; that is a crime, after all. I’m not saying to blast music on your walks to class or act out in a way that negatively affects other people; public decency and consideration of others may not be Core Values, but they’ve still got to be considered. I’m just saying to loosen up a little.
There’s a difference between acting goofy every once in a while and actively making your existence other people’s problem. Toe the line, please.
Getting back to the idea of looking silly in public, I promise: No one cares. A&M has a student body of well over 70,000 — anything you do will quickly be superseded by someone else tomorrow. Besides, we all have our own things to worry about. Look around the next time you’re walking around campus. Half of the passersby will be locked onto their phones, and the other half will be wearing headphones and staring blankly into space.
Spatial awareness is on the decline, and with it awareness of other people. If you can do something silly enough to shake people to attention, I consider you something of a hero.
So, the next time you find yourself at a chronal point of no return in which it’s either run for the bus or sit resigned for the next half hour, consider making the dash.
Charis Adkins is an English senior and opinion editor for The Battalion.
