During SSP, I read the book titled “How to Be Perfect” by Michael Schur, the same person who wrote “The Good Place” (which is an elite show, if you ever get the chance to check it out). In this novel, which is the first book Schur wrote during his career, he dives into massive philosophical ideologies with a comedic, lighthearted lens. It’s very refreshing. 

I’m not one who regularly lives her life focused on what Aristotle or Confucius deemed morally correct, rather I go with my gut—with what feels right, as I trust it will lead me to make the right choices. However, philosophers often rely upon social laws of sorts, guidelines that divvy our actions into two buckets: “good” and “bad.” Schur breaks down these laws and their many nuances using many modern-day examples that feel more applicable than the circumstances in which philosophers such as Plato found themselves. For example, Schur tackles the famous trolley problem in Chapter 2, titled Should I Let This Runway Trolley I’m Driving Kill Five People, or Should I Pull a Lever and Deliberately Kill One (Different) Person? “Weird question, right?” (39) he says. Schur then argues that such blatantly bizarre situations are no strong basis for philosophical study, an argument that directly reflects how unrealistic it is to bucket the world into “good” and “bad.” 

The whole book is chalk-full of hilarious comparisons similar to the brief sampling I’ve just given you, and—as someone with a dry sense of humor—I found Schur’s work to be a delight. However, the book contributed to my SSP in more ways than just bringing me an occasional laugh. 

As I mentioned, I am someone who has historically trusted her gut. “How to Be Perfect” has reinforced this belief of mine, but it has also taught me—as the title suggests—to not take everything so seriously. It’s normal to have a bad day every once in a while, it’s alright to have regrets, and it’s more than okay to make mistakes, just as long as you go about it all with a positive, amicable attitude. Before SSP, I had planned to apply this lesson to my work as an artist; my pirouettes need not be flawless, and some of my best ceramics have wabi sabi, an imperfect yet endearing quirk. However, I’ve now learned to apply Schur’s overarching lesson to my interpersonal pursuits. Especially as I look ahead to my future, I know that I will most certainly make a couple of wrong moves—whether they be a rocky job interview, joining a questionable student organization, or evolving priorities that eventually lead to regret. However, it’s all part of the learning curve, a curve that I can’t wait to ride for the rest of my life.