“I stand up on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way,” said the brilliant Robin Williams as Professor John Keating, on the cusp of transforming a group of young students’ lives in the film Dead Poets Society (1989). This film, a body of art that implores the viewer to look into their own lives, notice where the snow has settled on passions once set aflame, and seek the elusive meaning of carpe diem, or seizing the day, to “make your lives extraordinary”.Â
When I contemplate the concept of “extraordinarity”, grandiose flashes of the unlived life or the memories long past appear at the forefront of my mind. The very film itself is a momentary snapshot of a daring group changed by the words of classic poets, connection, and their teacher. That, in itself, is extraordinary; how could my own, typically quite usual life possibly match up to an inspiring moment such as this?Â
Let’s look closer at the word “extraordinary”. By literal linguistic evaluation, it is taking the word “ordinary”, and adding extra. In thinking that way, there are no parameters needed to classify something that would be considered almost entirely ordinary, with that little bit of unusuality, as extraordinary.Â
And so, I have deduced that to live the extraordinary life, in my own terms, can range from a slight diversion within my daily perception to a major tug in the strings that hold together my very existence. This may mean anything to quite literally anyone, but even so, one question remains: how?Â
Just before the start of my junior year of college, I decided that my previously pursued finance major simply wouldn’t do anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy my major; my love of learning rests close to my heart, and I still embark on the noble pursuit to acquire any knowledge contained in this universe of ours that I may. So, I became a marketing major with a minor in filmmaking. Film was always that one dream of mine; the dream that keeps you up at night as you run through the masterpieces of an inimitable vault of art for that slight trip in perception to find the proof that it is of human origin and creativity before the greatness it inherits.Â
I did not know how I was going to do it. I had little involvement in the creative scope of UF, I had just gotten out of a difficult long-term relationship, and I hated failure. In the midst of it all, I returned to a novel called Pay It Forward by Catherine Ryan Hyde I had read back in middle school. This story of a boy did one kind thing for another per day, with all he asked in return was to pay it forward in doing one kind thing for another.Â
Just one, kind thing per day. No master plan to being kinder, just starting with the world you already have and building, slowly, off of that. I had always been aware of the importance in finding comfort within the discomfort in discovering how you grow. Applying pressure to those points of sensitivity, even just the slightest amount, can unlock so much more than what meets the eye, even if it is only a change in perception. From that, I spontaneously decided that once per day, I would put myself outside of my comfort and exist in this space of discomfort. Because when it comes to discomfort, no matter how tolerant you may be of it, it often can get away from you. You will make excuses, shrivel away, resign yourself to that which brings you comfort and proven happiness. But you’ll always want more.
When you alleviate the pressure off of the outcome and simply focus on undertaking an act of discomfort, suddenly where the overarching pressures and noise prevents you from discomfort, your main focus suddenly shifts into just experiencing that one act of discomfort you told yourself you would.Â
I wish I could say this is where the hard part ends, but unfortunately, doing that one act of discomfort will still prove difficult. Yet, even if the initial reason for doing is purely to complete your daily discomfort, this one act may unravel a plethora of situations you may never have found yourself in if you had not dragged yourself to that one thing.
This is where I have found that these tiny minute changes in my life have blossomed into the chaotic equivalent of a butterfly effect. In whatever your preferred form of social media may be, I am sure you have heard of this concept, illustrated by the idea that doing something small eventually leads to large-scale and unpredictable outcomes.
Maybe what made me realize this was that acting gig in a random short film where I had to walk to that random apartment, where the director ended up becoming a close friend who guided me into filmmaking within UF to which I have employed an array of roles on short film sets and made a name for myself within this community.Â
Or maybe it was that general information study abroad session my mom made me attend even though I had no desire to study abroad, which turned into discovering the program that took me to London for a semester to meet the best people I have known in an experience that changed my view of the small world I had previously lived in and known.Â
Or maybe it even was the first first date I have ever been on, that I swore would be painfully awkward and leave swiftly upon arrival, where I ended up meeting someone who unlocked six hours worth of conversation in a pub down the street from my flat in a foreign country.
In each of these scenarios, I stumbled upon the original, miniscule opportunity. I asked myself if it could truly matter if I skipped out; none of these held any sort of clear pathway to something I ultimately wanted. I was wildly uncomfortable, and I truly tried to think of a logical justification to avoid every single one, whether out of fear or just wanting to stay within that of the familiar, the comfortable. Even so, I walked myself into one every one of these uncomfortable acts with only my set rule backing my bravery, and dragged my uncertainty and anxiety along for the ride.Â
Those little ways to make my ordinary life a little bit extra suddenly transformed my life and the memories of which I am made into a life I had once envisioned when thinking of the extraordinary. And now, I look forward, and I continue to challenge my days through it all, still never satisfied to stop experiencing the discomfort and risk of it all.
This will certainly not send the tiny ripple of a skipping rock into a massive rip current with every attempt. And you will not see it coming when it does, because that uniformity, that comfort, is what you sacrifice when you decide to introduce that little bit of extra into your life, wherein you will unlock pure, unfiltered chaos and unpredictability. Whether it be something as small as listening to a song by an artist in a genre you have never explored, or something as large as spending four months in another country, let it happen to you. Accept that discomfort, and in doing so, the potential for your life to unravel into something new right before your eyes. Â
So, stand up on that desk, and carpe diem your way through every pressure point. And even if you are only left with the wood beneath your feet and a view of the world from five feet higher, that is five feet more than the one who did not dare to stand up on that desk, the one who did not dare to try.