I’ve become somewhat accustomed to abruptly hearing my name in public (briefly wondering if I’ve developed auditory hallucinations), then seeing a friend, a classmate, or an acquaintance looking my way and waving, smiling at me, asking how I am. The whole interaction unfolds so quickly that the rest of my busy day will go by without me thinking about it, until I have a quiet, slow moment to reflect.
Then, I remember. And those moments, however superfluous, end up being some of my favorite ones to look back on. I haven’t really thought about why until now, but it falls into something else I’ve been considering a lot recently: surprise.
When we think of surprise, it tends to be huge events that come to mind, from birthday parties to romantic gestures. But, I’m thinking of a much simpler definition of surprise: something that challenges a preconceived notion or expectation of how things are. It’s something that’s been monumental for my first year in college.
When someone makes the effort, as small as it may be to them, to get my attention, it’s surprising. It’s easy to recognize someone and watch them walk by, or even pretend not to see them out of a fear of awkwardness (which I’ve admittedly done many times). And yet, they acknowledge me; exactly what I’m often too socially anxious to do for others.
Especially when I feel pessimistic about the world and a decent amount of the people in it, surprise is a powerful feeling. It tells me that experiencing life and pushing its boundaries is worth doing. I’ve realized the importance of letting yourself be surprised by other people: their perspectives and little kindnesses.
On an academic level, college is about developing and challenging your mind, which is what I’ve experienced in reading works from so many different authors and thinkers. I expected to rethink my beliefs in the classroom, but not so much outside of it.
As an introvert, I’ve been guilty of making generalizations (and particularly underestimations) about people. I won’t say that I’m always entirely wrong, but I’m definitely not always entirely right. There are a lot of people who have, against ease and convenience, supported me through this year in large and small ways, in my classes and outside of them.
There’s the girl from my seminar who had an impromptu hour-long conversation with me one day; the friend who looked at me whenever someone said something questionable in class; the girl who asks me how I’m doing during Berkeley time; the guy who writes in-depth replies to my discussion posts; the girl in my discussion section who compliments my work; my affirming instructors who go outside of their obligations to help me; and my friends who ask me to get food with them.
On one occasion, five of my friends walked me all the way to my small literary seminar, peeking in through the door as I entered my class, and not-so-subtly vocalizing their encouragement to the probable confusion of my classmates.
Sure, it takes a village, but maybe it also takes a college town (in addition to my hometown companions, of course.) All of this hasn’t just made me realize the value of allowing myself to feel surprised by other people, but I also want to be surprising too.
I’m ready to do “too much,” to make the effort for everyone I care about, even for classmates, acquaintances, and strangers. I want to do more than the safe bare minimum. I’ve found that the things most worth doing often require some level of vulnerability and risk, some willingness to stray from preconceived notions and expectations, some desire to disrupt and show the parts of myself that I’ve historically felt more comfortable hiding.
For example, in the case of saying a simple “Hello” to someone in public, you risk not being seen. But what does that matter, if you have even the slightest chance to make someone else feel seen?