The gold standard

In three months I will have completed three years of college. While I would have liked to examine a philosophical concern in my third column of the semester, the only question haunting me these days has been: What will I do when I graduate? Interestingly, the people who recently helped me explore this dreaded topic this time were not those whose names are engraved on Butler Library, but rather, attractive men on ice: the Olympic figure skaters.

Some people assume that philosophers are equipped with some esoteric skill to analyze and solve personal worries. In fact, if life were such an easy problem to work out, philosophy itself would cease to exist—just as competitive figure skating, let alone the Olympics, would be nonexistent had it not been for the uncertain, slippery stage.

While entertaining myself with this aesthetic sport, I couldn’t help but notice a strange similarity between the figure skating world and the current state of the Columbia community. These days, juniors and seniors around me are starting to resemble these Olympians, racing for their respective versions of the gold medal: Latin honors, acceptance to a prestigious graduate school, an offer from the most lucrative firm, the biggest paycheck. With the smooth show of discipline, careful concealment of stumbles, and their fashionable finales followed by standing ovations, these competitors are sliding by me, left and right.

While I tell myself to disregard this unofficial, superficial game, it’s been difficult standing idly on top of a spot of thin ice, an area labeled “Unprepared to Face the Real World.” It suddenly seems naïve to think that I should try to understand difficult and interesting material when I could have taken “easy A courses” to boost my GPA. “How else do you survive the résumé selections,” one student argued, “given this job market?”

Indeed, earning the points may be the swiftest way to the top. But the rise and fall of Russian figure skater Evgeni Plushenko last week proves otherwise. Plushenko, who already owns an Olympic gold medal from 2006, wanted to defend his title with a quadruple toe loop jump—the technique that earns you the most points from the judges. Oddly reminiscent of a guy who approached me during my freshman year, saying, “You know, I got a perfect score on the SATs,” Plushenko jumped the “quad,” ending the performance with a pretentious smirk.

The result? A silver medal, defeated by someone who didn’t even attempt complicated techniques. “I am not prepared to skate well and lose,” Plushenko whined. Not only did he have a skewed conception of what “skating well” meant, he considered being second in the world to be a failure. Similarly, I’ve heard an acquaintance complain that he “only got a 97 percent” on a philosophy midterm. My proudly earned B-plus suddenly felt unsatisfactory.

I thought about my family as I watched and listened to the crowd at the Olympics, pretending for a few seconds that they were all cheering for my apparently mediocre college career. Just as the skating rink invites a unique type of nationalism where a collective force is entirely invested in a represented individual, our families at home root for our success in college and employment.

When this warm encouragement turns into stifling pressure, however, figure skaters and college students alike lose their smiles and any glimpse of happiness. I know several people who are applying to law school to fulfill their parents’ dream, which looks noble on the surface, but is deceitful nonetheless.
One thing about figure skating that I want replicated in real life is standing back up after falling from a big jump, and continuing as though nothing went wrong. Japanese figure skater Daisuke Takahashi failed to jump “the quad” during the free performance, which was anticipated by many, seeing as he just recently recovered from a severe knee injury.

Despite the imperfection, Takahashi’s overall performance moved me the most. After hearing that he came in third place, he smiled and told the interviewer, “I’m happy to take a medal. I had many problems to solve and I take this as a new start for my career.” This piece of wisdom from a 23-year-old shows just how silly the Columbia race is, and even sillier the person who feels persecuted by it.

In the end, my “success” is not decided by a point system, judges, supporters, or a particular audience. When American skater Evan Lysacek came in second after the short program, he called it “a winning performance, whether it was deserving of a bronze, a silver, a gold—it didn’t matter.” With that attitude, he skated with elegance and passion during the free program, earning him the gold medal.

I’m not prepared to sacrifice an education and lose in a race that isn’t even mine. I have my own gold standard.

Yurina Ko is a Barnard College junior majoring in philosophy. She is a senior editor of the Columbia Political Review. 2+2=5 runs alternate Wednesdays.