My favorite thinking space is a 6-by 8-foot nook that overlooks the Charles River from eight stories above the ground. Spending time here adds a Rapunzel-esque quality to my daily life, except that any male callers are just MIT frat guys next door when I forget to draw the shade, and I think long hair is tacky. This sacred space, the only place I can really get in touch with my core, happens to be the shower of my tiny bathroom — not so glamorous, but there’s a lock on the door, which is enough for me. Whenever I’m in need of guaranteed alone time, which to me is absolutely imperative, I take about 40 minutes to turn on the shower, sit in the dirty, ancient tub, and just think. The bottom of the tub is a venerable spot where generations of Shelton Hall’s finest STDs and athlete’s-foot strains have lived for ages, so I’m in good company. I pull back the curtain in order to breathe, but I like it as dark as possible, so the shade is always down save a crack for the steam to escape out the window. It can’t, however, be completely dark — silverfish enjoy shower meditations just as much as I do.
I have a serious disdain for rain, so it’s strange that I like to do this so often, but there’s something tranquil about the noise and feeling of water as well as the security of a locked door. Sitting here, I silently visualize the Sanskrit alphabet, review the day’s events, and connect the dots on my legs’ freckle constellations. For my Cancer side, this time for self-contemplation is vital for my well-being. I love being social most of the time, but something about being so exposed makes me feel insecure.
In ancient Greek culture, there’s an oracular prophecy that Plato was keen to explore: “Gnothi seauton,” which translates to “know yourself.” For me, this is an act that can only be achieved through a balance of self-reflection and interaction with others, but even interaction with others should be internally processed in order to gain any insight. Knowing yourself isn’t equivalent to conceited self-confidence, either. It’s the recognition of your personal capabilities that, when learned well, makes others’ criticism seem increasingly less relevant. This saying, incidentally, is inscribed on the marble guard’s seat in the House of the Temple in Washington, D.C., to demonstrate that only those who attempt to truly know themselves are permitted access to a sacred space.
Back to the showering business: I can’t just daydream and “know myself” all day. While using up Boston University’s hot water is the only minor revenge I can take on such high tuition rates, I’d rather not pass out from the steam, so I reluctantly rise up and walk back into my freezing room. As a final note, when I was naming this column, I came across a very naughty poem by a bad man named Charles Bukowski who clearly took the oracular command in the Biblical sense.
Sydney Shea is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at slshea@bu.edu.
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