The After Class Bell Rung, and The Real Lessons Began
Excerpt from my upcoming book, The Time Is Now: A Guide To Honor Your Time On Earth (coming early 2025)
While in college, my cousin had a revelation about what truly matters in life. He didn't learn it from a book or a course, he learned it through the firsthand experience of his philosophy teacher.
Professor Josh (we’ll keep his real name a secret as he continues to teach) had a core purpose as a teacher: to mold his students minds so they had a uniquely subjective perspective on how to live a meaningful life outside the classroom. “Proffie Josh” would be the kind of teacher who really taught when the after class bell rang, and his students–including my cousin–would sometimes skip their next class to have a deep talk about life beyond the classroom—and about their prospective paths after graduation.
My cousin has a deep, exploratory mind. This would fuel his participation in Philosophy 201. One day, as he was driving to class, he noticed he was carrying some additional existential angst, and couldn’t wait until the bell rang so the real class of Professor Josh would start. He approached Professor Josh and told him that, as graduation was nearing, he started the application process for consultant jobs. He shared his anxiety about working, and perhaps sacrificing all of his present time for a mythical better tomorrow. One of his biggest concerns was sacrificing his true colors for any career path just to amass wealth, like countless previous generations had done before him.
Professor Josh listened closely, maybe closer than ever before.
Professor Josh often responded to his students' questions with metaphors drawn from the works of great philosophers like Marcus Aurelius or Seneca, offering the profound insights that we all deeply seek.
This time he decided to share the following personal story.
When he was in his twenties, Professor Josh wrote himself a letter; he wrote that whatever he did in life it must have soul and depth, and he wouldn’t sell his soul to a corporation or to an idea—not ever.
Professor Josh stored the letter in a box where, as time passed, it became a faded memory. Upon graduation, he began an amazing, successful career, immersing himself in significant diplomatic endeavors and international projects often related to a corporate and political setting. Although he found success in the external world, he had forgotten about the letter he wrote to himself all those years ago.
Many years later, as he was sorting through old boxes, he found the letter. When he read that same letter at sixty years old, his eyes began to water. He felt as if he had betrayed his youthful self, and as he read through it entirely, he broke down. He remembered what he felt during his twenties, but only began to explore that side of himself decades later when he thought he had more time.
He told my cousin that when we make decisions at critical moments in our lives, those choices will define how we shape our time on Earth. He suggested that my cousin ask himself the following question: “Are you crafting a meaningful life not only for others, but for yourself?”
“If not,” he said, “The time is now to explore this question, and design a life that will fulfill you deep within your soul.” He encouraged my cousin to stick to his guns, make sure he happens to life and life doesn’t happen to him, always stay alert to career-building temptations, and trust his intuitive powers.
The truth is, we can have all the success in life—become a great politician, a successful CEO, a prestigious salesperson—but that success will never feel as good as we thought because it was something we chased, and more often than not, society compelled us to do so.
Professor Josh demands for us to not be another statistic. Instead, he tells us to be brave and ask ourselves the following profound, intimate questions.
What is a life well lived by my definition?
What makes my soul burn with passion?
How can I stay true to myself in a world that demands conformity?
Am I genuinely crafting a meaningful life—not only for others but for myself?