Three New Agreements I Made Freshman Year

photo courtesy of Maddie Ames

A New Beginning

For many individuals, college represents an opportunity for a new beginning. I certainly felt this way. By the time I graduated high school, I felt ready for a change and, not just a change in scenery. We’re talking a change in who I was as an individual.

Going into college, I realized some exciting experiences lay ahead, but I knew I had some changes in my life to make if I ever stood a chance at making the most of what awaited me. For starters, I made three new agreements with myself that included:

 

1. Putting in the Extra Time

 

2. Giving Everyone the Time of Day—Everyone

 

3. Being Open (To Being Vulnerable)

The First Agreement: Putting in the Extra Time

Even though I achieved decent grades in high school, I knew I cheated myself out of a lot by not putting in the extra time to my homework. I understood I couldn’t redo my high school career, but I could take what I learned from it to better my chances for success in college.

I knew I deserved better from myself and that the world did too, but I also realized what that would require. In order to distinguish myself and live up to my fullest potential, I had to agree with myself to put in the extra time. I didn’t always enjoy keeping this agreement with myself. I’ll admit it, but I’ll also admit the satisfaction at receiving my report card at the end of first semester.

The Second Agreement: Giving Everyone the Time of Day

Going into high school from a small grade school, I wanted nothing more than to be popular—a common folly shared among many high school freshmen, in my opinion. Towards my senior year in high school, I realized all the opportunities I had again missed out on by trying constantly to appease “the cool kids” rather than taking time to get to know everyone on an equal level.

College would be different, I determined, because I would make the change in myself to get to know everyone. Some of you folks reading this blog might know me as the Johnnie on campus (both at CSB and SJU) who couldn’t travel more than fifteen feet without having to say “hello” to someone. I recognized early on that outside of the classroom, my classmates took over the role of teacher and so I wanted to meet as many of these individuals as I could. I met many wonderful individuals. Some I grew to love while some ended up as only acquaintances. With others, my experience wasn’t always pleasant. I’ll admit that. Even then, however, I learned so much from everyone I crossed paths with because I determined that I would regardless of who they were and how we differed. These people I met taught me a multitude of lessons and, in their own way, helped me keep my freshman year agreements and make many more into the future.

The Third Agreement: Being Open (To Being Vulnerable)

I made the final agreement to be open with my feelings much later on in my first year career at CSB and SJU but it significantly changed the rest of my life to this day. To me, “being open” isn’t just telling someone you’re interested in romantically that you have feelings for them. It involves much more. Mainly, “being open” means that you agree to a certain sense of vulnerability with those you wish to grow close to. We seek a type of companionship in our friends and relationships that assure us we’re not alone in our experiences, pains, doubts, and joys. We want and need to relate to others and we need others to relate to us, but we won’t get to that point unless we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. You take a risk when you do this and it doesn’t always pay off. Still, you stand to gain so much while contributing much in return to the world and those you share it with.

The Lessons I Learned

Since adding these three agreements to my life, I have committed to additional ones over the years. New experiences, triumphs, and failures all prompted me to evaluate my life, reevaluate, and then change again in order to become a better person for myself and the world. I often failed at upholding these agreements but, over time, I grew better and better at keeping them. As long as I agreed to do my best, I knew I could fail from time to time and still uphold my agreements in the end. Realizing I was prone to mistakes didn’t erase my failures, but it allowed me to turn them into opportunities for growth and, ultimately, it enabled me to make a positive change in my life and the lives of others.

Your thoughtful companion,

Connor Beck

The Friends I Didn’t Have in College

One thing I noticed since graduating is that the typical person one meets at college is different from the typical person one meets away from college. The kinds of people not seen in college can teach us a lot, but we have few opportunities to form relationships with them while at school. Let me explain.

Nearly every person I met at CSB/SJU was a responsible, successful adult. These people either were financially secure or they will be in the future. They had learned an impressive number of life’s lessons and had worked hard to develop good habits and expunge bad ones.

I don’t encounter such people as frequently outside of college, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Take kids, for example. Their future is very much undecided, and they are in the process of forming healthy habits. Especially in the early years, they are very much in need of guidance from their parents and community members. Yet the typical student at CSB/SJU doesn’t interact with children on a day-to-day basis. (Some people, however, volunteer externally at schools and places like the local Boys and Girls Club). Students at CSB/SJU—and most other colleges—don’t get consistent practice engaging with these types of people.

I first realized this when I was at my cousin’s wedding a few weeks after graduation. I found myself in a pool room with the bride’s cousin, a 9-year-old boy. He wanted to learn how to play pool, so I taught him the rules and we started playing. As we played, I started thinking of the last time I met and spent time with someone this young. In the past, I had been a babysitter and a camp counselor. My first year in college, I tutored children in St. Cloud. Since then, however, I hadn’t had this kind of interaction with a child. It was a unusual feeling.

Furthermore, we college students don’t get much practice engaging with adults who struggle materially. Most of us aren’t accustomed to witnessing the emotional and psychological struggles that often accompany material deprivation. I’m not saying students don’t meet people who are broken or have been broken in the past. Many of us have been in that state before. But few among us will experience the struggle of, say, Chris Gardner of The Pursuit of Happyness. For every Chris Gardner there are a dozen others who don’t make it.

The challenge becomes even more difficult when you take a step back to view our career trajectories. Lots of students have internships or some sort of work experience during the summers, especially their last two, a tendency which further bars them from interacting with people different from themselves. Then they move on to a job in which they encounter even more responsible, successful adults.

It’s important to befriend people who aren’t responsible, successful adults, for their sake and ours. Yes, we can do a lot of good for them, but they can teach us many things as well. Unsuccessful Chris Gardners can teach us things; kids can teach us things. Through these people, we might learn just how unfair the deal in Life’s card game can be—but also how much power we have in the hands we’ve been dealt.

One unique challenge I, as a recent graduate, look forward to facing is learning how to form quality relationships with those who are not like myself. I believe it to be a worthwhile goal.

Your thoughtful companion,
Chris Heitzig

How Three Rules Changed My Life – And My Major

We celebrated many things at Commencement. We celebrate the friendships we made, the personal development we underwent, and the memories we made. Perhaps the foremost thing we celebrate is the conferring of academic degrees, the consummation of our undergraduate education.

With some help from the gods, the man in the above photo graduated (though he failed to show the seal of the diploma). What did that academic journey look like for him? Was it straight and narrow, or did it have some twists and turns? Most of you know me well enough to guess that it was the latter.

I had difficulty choosing a major. I’ve always had an affinity for math and therefore wanted to choose a major that emphasized quantitative practices. I had a complementary passion for philosophy, as I enjoy thinking deeply. CSB/SJU offers a 3/2 Program in which students spend three years at CSB/SJU and two years at the University of Minnesota and earn an engineering degree and second degree of their choosing. I decided to pursue philosophy and engineering degrees through this program.

My first semester wasn’t spectacular. I was over-committed with soccer, work, volunteering, and 18 credits. The classes I took were surprisingly demanding. I took many college-level International Baccalaureate classes in high school and thought I was more prepared than I actually was. Moreover, I discovered that I really struggled with natural sciences, which was a huge problem considering their rather large role in engineering. I abandoned the 3/2 Program after one semester.

With guidance from family, friends, and especially my First Year Seminar teacher Elizabeth Stoltz, I switched to economics. It’s the most mathematical (and highest paying) of the social sciences and the subject interested me.

My major wasn’t the only thing I needed to change. My study habits were in need of revision. Fortunately, I took a timely trip to Holden, Washington, a village in the mountains, a trip for which I had two 30-hour train rides to reflect on the failures of my first semester. On the train, I read The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, which inspired me to formulate three golden rules for succeeding academically in college:

1. Do the assigned readings. Every class period. If you don’t, you’ll be stuck learning a semester’s worth of material the week before the final.
2. Do homework on Fridays. In my experience, ‘the fun’ doesn’t start until after dinner. That leaves at least a couple hours to start your weekend homework after class. It’s also very effective to use the weekends to get a head start on Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s homework.
3. Do homework until you have something better to do. I’ve heard that this is the toughest rule to put in practice. Most people check social media when they don’t know what to do. They spend sometimes a half-hour scrolling through news feeds. Imagine if that time was spent working on homework. I had to train myself to naturally gravitate to homework when I had a free moment. When I had something better to do, like class, a meeting, or hanging out with friends, only then would I set my homework aside.

I thought long and hard about these rules on the return route back to St. Cloud. Spring semester, I applied them, and it worked well. I earned straight A’s. In fact, I had a 4.0 the last three and a half years of college.

The summer after sophomore year, I decided that my ultimate goal is to earn a graduate degree in economics and work for a large international organization with the power to deeply assist people in need around the world. Therefore, this blog post is as much an ongoing narrative as it is a detailing of my past. I still have a long ways to go—‘Commencement’ means ‘a beginning’ after all!

Your thoughtful companion,
Chris Heitzig

The Link—A Truly Magical School Bus

            Before enrolling at St. John’s, I suffered from a strong dislike for busses. Similar to many individuals who relied on this means of transportation for their commute to and from school, I developed some pretty bitter memories from my bus experience throughout the years and, from these experiences, an unhealthy distaste for busses as well.

That all changed when I arrived at St. John’s and St. Bens where the Link bus served me as not only the best way to get between campuses but also the one of the most superb options to meet new, unexpected, and interesting people. Taking the Link could have just become another unwelcome bus experience, but the very nature of the Link itself differed from any other bus I’d ridden on before.

First of all, EVERYONE on the bus was either a Johnnie or a Bennie. You might say, “Big deal! Everyone on my bus in high school went to my same school as I did as well.” On this, I cannot dispute you. I admit, you are totally correct in this matter. However, I must say that the fact that everyone on the Link attended the same school stands out as particularly important and definitive because it meant you were riding around with individuals who chose out of their own initiative and will to belong to the same community. You not only rode the bus with these individuals, you at meals with them, attended class with them, lived with them, and shared your life with them in a place you all called home.

That quality of the Link gave it a special feeling that can hardly be replicated in any other common four wheeled student transport you might ever find traversing the roads of this green earth. Now, I should note that much of the excitement over the Link originated in particular from the possibility of meeting some of these incredible individuals you shared in community with. You might make a new friend, a new study buddy, intramural teammate, travel companion, or significant other. I met my significant other in dance class—a far cry from the Link yet still a similarly convenient way of meeting other Johnnies and Bennies.

One thing you must know about the Link though is this: if you do not dare to say “hello,” you’ll never experience the true magic behind a potentially awesome experience. You have to make the effort to find the joy in others. This holds true for many aspects of life, the Link being no exception. You never know who you might meet if you just endeavor to start a simple conversation. In those moments in life that we manage to muster the courage to be bold, explore, take a risk, initiate interaction, or step out of our comfort zone, we discover the complexity and beauty of the individuals we share this world with. In reality, the Link only ever took me back and forth a couple of miles down the interstate between St. Ben’s and St. John’s, yet, even then, I feel as though it allowed me to discover some otherwise inaccessible places—the hearts and minds of the human beings I shared in community with as a citizen of the world.

Your thoughtful companion,

Connor Beck

How I Succeeded, Then Failed at Stewardship

Today we talk mostly about rights. Something is illegal—or immoral—because it violates another’s rights. As in school, where to earn an ‘A’ we must focus on not losing any points, our moral report card is graded well when we don’t disrespect others’ rights.

When did we forget about duty? Duties go hand in hand with rights. If you believe you have a right to life, surely you have a corresponding duty to promote life among others. I think the present age suffers from focusing more on how we deserve to be treated rather than how we ought to treat others (though both are important).

The Benedictine Tradition has a great word for the kind of duties we have in life: stewardship. The Benedictines believe God gave the world to us and that we have a duty to watch over it, maintaining its beauty and sustenance. We also have a duty to take care of the people with whom we share the world.

I was a good steward for a while. In high school, I volunteered regularly and went on four mission trips. I kept it up when I moved to Collegeville. During my first year, I volunteered weekly for Hands Across the World, an organization based in St. Cloud that seeks to equip recent immigrants with the language skills and cultural understanding needed to succeed in the U.S. I assisted in planning and running the Institute for Women’s Leadership’s Human Trafficking Awareness Week. As I mentioned in my last entry, I also played piano for masses in the St. Cloud Correctional Facility. Sophomore year, I served as a basketball coach for Special Olympics Minnesota.

The time I spent volunteering earned me the Caritas Man of Extraordinary Service Award, an honor given to Johnnies who demonstrate a commitment to service. Receiving that award was one of the highlights of my first year.

During my final two years at CSB/SJU, I was not deserving of that award. Something changed. Not suddenly, but gradually—I began to become increasingly wrapped up in my own self-interest. I was not selfish, but by focusing intently on the opportunities that would benefit me, I was blinded to my duty of stewardship. It’s not merely that I didn’t make time to volunteer, it’s that I didn’t take as much time to give of myself as I had during my first two years at CSB/SJU.

It’s okay to be self-interested, but everything must be put into perspective. For example, it’s entirely acceptable for parents to pursue their own hobbies and career opportunities, but the moment that pursuit conflicts with their duties to their children, they must scale back on the recreational and career-related activities to ensure their duties as a parent are fulfilled. I neglected my duty as a steward of the world. I remained aware of it, but I chose to indulge in self-interested endeavors instead.

When I became aware of it midway through senior year, it was too late. I was burdened by copious commitments, such as an honors thesis, a piano recital, and two upper-division math classes. I was sad that I couldn’t make an immediate change, but I was happy that atonement was still possible. Shortly after realizing my sucky stewardship, I committed to serve with the Benedictine Volunteer Corps (BVC) next year in Newark, NJ, where I will be an inner-city high school teacher. One of my philosophy professors, Father Rene, once said, “The test of truth is a quiet heart.” I’m not sure where he found that quote, but it described how I felt after committing to the BVC. The prodigal son returned to stewardship.

Your thoughtful companion,
Chris Heitzig

Something Most People Don’t Know about Me

If you know me well, you know that I love to play the piano. Even if you know me very well, however, it’s unlikely that you know how I came to love the piano.

Just before my I began my first year at CSB/SJU, I decided to focus more on the piano rather than the trumpet. I had played the trumpet for seven years, and it was far and away the instrument for which I had the most talent; yet, I had inexplicable draw to the white and black keys. I withdrew myself from Wind Ensemble (aka band), and enrolled in piano lessons with Dr. Wim Ibes.

Dr. Ibes is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. He has a small stature but a large presence. He is brimming with passion. He is a conscientious man who is always present to the task at hand. He’s the rare kind of idealist that somehow allows others to dream his dream. I didn’t know what I was getting into taking lessons from him.

Dr. Ibes and I agreed to meet to discuss taking private lessons, the appropriate class for experienced pianists. After introducing ourselves, he placed some sheet music on the piano and asked me to sight-read it. After performing it for him, he sighed and said, “Chris, I don’t think you are ready for lessons. I’d recommend you sign up for Class Piano.” I was devastated. Class Piano was for beginners! Was I really that bad? I had had three years of lessons from 5^th to 7^th grade – didn’t that count for something?

Apparently not. Crestfallen, I enrolled in Class Piano. Upon reflection, Class Piano was a huge step in my development as a piano player. I learned to correctly use the pedal. I discovered that learning a piano piece is more than playing it well enough for people to recognize the melody. Telling a story and understanding the language of the composer are also vital to the art of piano playing.

After six formative weeks, Dr. Ibes told me that I was ready to take private lessons. I felt like Luke Skywalker after Yoda calls him a Jedi. I was overjoyed, but focused. I understood why it was necessary for me to take Class Piano.

That year I learned a lot under Dr. Ibes. I also grew markedly outside of lessons. I started volunteering as a piano player for Prison Ministry, an organization that conducts mass in local prisons. I remember my first day vividly. I had always been nervous to perform in front of people… but playing in front of inmates was another thing entirely. I was sweating. My body was silently shivering. It seemed as if I couldn’t read a note, let alone play a full song.

I messed up. Quite a few times. And the next time I went, I messed up too, but not quite as many times. I also didn’t feel as nervous as I had the first time. Each time I went, I spent approximately the same time preparing the music, but it became easier and easier to play. The stone-cold faces of the inmates taught me to play fearlessly, a quality which remains with me today.

After I began private lessons, I pledged my devotion to piano, despite the multitude of other commitments I had undertaken. Throughout my four years in college, I averaged an hour of practicing a day. Even after Dr. Ibes retired and I moved on to Dr. Amy Grinsteiner and eventually Father Bob Koopmann (two outstanding teachers and players), my practicing habits and love for the piano remained.

I began playing every opportunity I could. I played for masses and prayer services. I played at nursing homes and other events where piano music was sought. I played for anyone who was open to hearing a new story, or at least a familiar story told in my own unique way. In April 2014, I took a trip to China. I came across a piano in an open-air market and sat down to play it. Before long, dozens of people encircled me and started taking photos and videos of me playing. Though I didn’t know a word of Chinese, we had one language in common: music.

Playing piano in a Chinese market.

A few months later, I moved to Washington, DC, where I interned at the Federal Communications Commission. I lived in a house next to Senator Thad Cochran and his now wife Kay Webber. Occasionally, after work, I’d stop to help Kay weed her garden or do some other chore. We chatted about random things. Eventually, piano came up, and she invited me over to play for her and Senator Cochran’s staff. A couple of weeks later, I found myself playing piano for Senator Cochran, Kay, and a couple members of their staff. From Class Piano to performing on Capitol Hill in three years—I was euphoric.

Playing for Senator Thad Cochran (right) and his staff assistant Kay Webber (left).

In January, my 12-year old cousin Grace died. Our family is quite close, and it was a devastating blow to us. One of the fondest memories I have with her is from last Thanksgiving. After stuffing ourselves, we shuffled over to the piano and played some songs we knew for one another. Then I taught her an improvisation technique known as “Fake Book”, a trick that allows a player to learn new songs very quickly. How her face lit up! I remember her running to tell her mom what she had learned. She had so much musical potential.

That memory is an unforgettable step in what has been quite a journey for me. I wasn’t a scholarship music student at CSB/SJU. I don’t have much natural music ability. What I do have is passion, a commitment to an art that has transformed my life. I call it an art, but it’s much more than that. For me, playing piano is a mode of living unlike any other. I feel alive when the first note reverberates through me. We all have activities like this. For some, it’s exercising. For others, it’s reading a good book. For me, it’s playing the piano.

Your thoughtful companion,
Chris Heitzig

Life In Every Breath

The summer leading up to my senior year, I rediscovered the movie, “The Last Samurai.” Yes, it has Tom Cruise in it, but we’re not going to talk about him; besides, crazy or not, that man can act. Alright, end of discussion!

What I really want to bring up in reference to that movie actually focuses on a particular scene in the movie where one of the main characters, a samurai named Katsumoto, tells Tom’s character that the way of the warrior is to live, “life in every breath.” I’m not sure how many people looked as deeply into this as I did, but I found this phrase incredibly profound as I sat there re-watching this movie as a soon-to-be senior. What struck me was that Katsumoto didn’t say you had to be an expert with a sword, fearless, strong, or ultra-disciplined to be a warrior. No. He gave a much simpler message by declaring that walking the way of the warrior merely meant living, “life in every breath.”

While senior year entails quite a bit of fun, it can also involve a great deal of stress and anxiety over the approaching change after graduation and the uncertainty that goes with it. I knew going into this year though that I would rather enjoy myself and that all around me there would be things to enjoy if I could merely live “life in every breath” and commit myself to making the most of the present moment.

I knew it would not help to lament the coming end of a college career. The end would arrive whether we wanted to or not. I could not control that; however, I knew I could control how I lived in the present and I knew I could find the beauty in each moment that of life if I simply endeavored to try.

For me, that meant enjoying the fresh air or even a gentle rain on my way to class. Living presently meant rejoicing in the opportunity to learn, push myself, and test my limits rather than give in to an assignment I’d rather not do. It also meant savoring each conversation and each chance to grow as an individual in every moment I could. It meant noticing the miracle in every small aspect of existence. They’re there if we just take the time to notice and consider them.

By the end of my senior year, I felt ready for the future and excited for what lay ahead and not because I was sick of school—no, I loved school—but, because I had made the most of my time there by living in the present—by living “life in every breath.”

Your thoughtful companion,

Connor Beck