MARASCO: Guts

My freshman year of college, I was invited to tag along to a giant dumpster fire of a fraternity party with some people on my floor. I had been to parties at this particular house before. It was a typical Tampa frat lair. There was no basement, so it got real crowded and sticky. Shots from rogue. $9 bottles of liquor. Shouting at complete strangers as they attempted to flip cups. Pissing in the backyard. A lot of generally shameful behavior. Decent probability of police intervention. But I always had a good time and left with a good story or two.

I was hanging out with a close friend of mine who wasn’t sure if he really wanted to go. I felt unsure as well. I couldn’t be a lousy friend and just run off without him, but I’ve never really been one to stay in on a Friday night. I didn’t want to force him into something he wouldn’t enjoy, but I also felt like I might be helping him gain some life experience that he would treasure later on.

Eventually, we decided to empower a quarter with the decision. Heads we go. Tails we don’t. Sort of like turning ours brains off. The decision was just too hard for us, I guess, so we fancied the coin to be the best available arbitrator.

However, as soon as the coin flipped out of my hand and floated into the air, I knew I wanted heads. I wanted to go be a young, drunken fool. I wanted an experience I couldn’t get from staying in. And I knew it would be a great adventure for my comrade.

I was lucky. It landed on heads. We ended up having an amazing time. I wonder what I would’ve done that night if the quarter had landed on tails. Probably Mario Tennis and gas station chicken.

We only get so many Friday nights, and I almost cost myself a great deal of fun and some very fond memories because I wasn’t brave enough to make the decision on my own.

I’ve never liked, or furthermore understood, the phrase “go with your gut.” To me it always seemed like a fancy, wanna-be-spirit-guide way of saying “Make a decision without thinking.” I mean my gut doesn’t have any neurons, does it? My gut knows when I’ve skipped breakfast, and it knows to retract when pretty girls are around. That’s about it. Why should I trust my lower stomach with an important decision? And what is so great about not thinking?

But so many seem to romanticize this idea of making crucial choices with one’s gut. Is it because there’s some mystical value in turning off your brain to make a hard decision, or is it just because it’s hard, and we don’t want to have to think about it anymore? I think the evidence points overwhelmingly to the latter. And other times we most likely already know what we want to do, but just don’t have the courage to choose it with our own power of reason.

I find myself at a stage in life with a lot of tough choices. I’ve been a student of some form for almost my entire life, and that’s all but over. There’s much to be decided, much to be considered. Who am I? Where will I go? What will I do? Cup of Noodles or microwave hot dog?

These are big questions. These are hard choices. Entrusting my lower intestine with this all seems like a cop out. It’s too hard for my brain, so I’m just passing the buck to my gut. “C’mon gut work your magic.” But with all due respect to my belly, it should never be left with any such decision. Well, perhaps aside from the noodles/hot dog dilemma.

Should I remain in Los Angeles? That’s a big question. “What does your gut say?” so many people have asked regarding this issue. What is it that I want to dedicate my time and effort to? That’s another big question. “Go with your gut,” is the most prevalent advice.

I say that’s garbage. I’m not going make my stomach flab do all the work. I’m going to put on my big boy pants, and I’m going to think about it — even though it’s hard. I’m going to look myself in the mirror and ask “What do I want to do? What makes me happy?” And I’m not going to let myself pass the buck to a quarter, dice, magic eight-ball, notebook-paper-fortune-teller or anything else of the sort. It’s my job to figure these things out. I’m lucky enough to have a functioning brain. I might as well have the “guts” to use it.

Frank Marasco is a first-year graduate student in Los Angeles. He can be reached at fcm820@bu.edu.