College is often described as an investment in our future. We spend four years and, for many students, tens of thousands of dollars (in fact, the average cost of college in the United States is 39,406 dollars) in exchange for a degree that is supposed to lead to a better job and a higher salary. Because of this, it makes sense to think about college as a financial investment. Higher education is expensive, and students deserve to know whether taking on that cost is likely to improve their lives. The financial calculation has become especially difficult as tuition has risen and student debt has become a defining feature of American college life. So when young people ask whether college is worth it, I understand the question, but I think it is important we examine the assumption that the value of an education can be determined by what it gives us in return.

There are plenty of practical reasons to go to college. It can provide professional training, develop writing and communication skills and introduce students to people and ideas they would not otherwise encounter. For many of us, it also marks the first time we have to navigate adulthood largely on our own. But this mindset still treats education as a means to something else. While it is true that college is worthwhile because it makes us better employees, better citizens or better prepared adults there is also a more fundamental reason to value it.

Learning does not always need to be useful, but this idea has become surprisingly difficult to defend. We have become accustomed to asking what something is for. A degree should lead to a career. A class should teach a marketable skill. A major should lead to a job. Even when we defend the humanities, we often do so by pointing out that studying history or philosophy develops “critical thinking,” as though the subject itself needs to be defended in court before we are allowed to pursue it. There is nothing wrong with those skills. They are valuable. But they are not the only reason to learn.

Consider philosophy. A philosophy class might ask whether human beings have free will, whether morality exists independently of human opinion or what makes a government legitimate. None of these questions comes with a clear career path attached to it. That does not make them frivolous. Knowing how other people have answered these questions changes the way we understand the world. It gives us concepts for thinking about problems we might otherwise struggle to articulate. It exposes us to arguments we may ultimately reject, but that we would not have been capable of considering before. The same is true across the humanities. Studying history can change how you understand the present. Literature can introduce you to experiences far removed from your own. Political theory can make familiar institutions look strange enough to question. Art can teach you to pay attention to things you might otherwise overlook. None of these experiences need to increase your salary to have value.

This is not an argument for ignoring the financial reality of college. Students should not be encouraged to take on life-changing amounts of debt for an education they cannot afford. Colleges should be held accountable for rising costs, and students should have access to honest information about employment and earnings. But there is a difference between recognizing that education has a cost and deciding that its only legitimate return is financial.

In fact, that distinction matters because treating students entirely as economic actors changes what we expect from college. If the purpose of higher education is simply to produce workers, then the obvious solution is to eliminate anything that does not directly contribute to employment. But that would leave out a large part of what education has historically been for.

Universities have always been places where people pursue questions because they are worth asking. The idea that knowledge can be valuable without an immediate practical application is hardly new. What is relatively new is how strongly we have come to expect every part of our education to justify itself economically. College should certainly prepare students for the working world. But it should also give them the opportunity to encounter ideas that have no obvious use, ask questions with no obvious answer and become interested in things simply because they are interesting.

About a week ago, I was sitting on one of those red lawn chairs by Jewell Hall, just soaking in the sun, when I noticed something strange lying in the grass a few feet away, glittering in the bright midday light. I walked over and picked it up. Looking at it now, it seems to be a book or journal of some sort, written in a strange, hieroglyphic script which I have been working to decipher. Its cover is metal and has various buttons embedded in it, some of which make a strange beeping sound if I press them. As I began to read, I noticed the date on the inside front cover: January 26, 2961! Have I found an original document from the future? I can’t say for sure, but in the spirit of journalism I will share the contents of this book, and maybe one of you readers will be able to find out whether this could possibly be, indeed, a time traveler’s diary.

—

The research project has been approved. I am excited and honored to begin my dissertation studies by traveling to the ancient civilization of pre-Vorkopolik America, in the year 2026, to discover by experience the culture of its inhabitants and hopefully to conduct undercover exploration about their beliefs and customs. I have landed at what I believe to be the ancient city-state of Texas, and there seems to be some sort of religious celebration occurring which I have been observing for the past few hours. My list of observations grows steadily more unbelievable, but I swear I write nothing but the pure truth so help me Borg.

I was wearing my red, reflective antivirus suit which I had worried would cause the inhabitants some fear or confusion. However, as I walked into what, according to the signs, was the American Airlines center, the inhabitants seemed pleased and not at all offended by my hyperreflective outfit, instead uttering drawn-out grunts of some sort. One even offered me a ceremonial headpiece of the same color enscribed with the slogan to “Improve, Once More, America” or something like that. I did not get a chance to fully run text translation software. 

They all seemed to be headed to a specific area in the building, so I joined them. Following, I walked into a large amphitheater of some sort in the middle of what seemed to be a speech which I translated with my multi-language earpiece, although I believe it may have been malfunctioning, as I picked up audio of a very ugly old man attempting to bribe the Americanite people for their vote with a payment of $5,000 each should he win some sort of powerful title. If my calculator reports correctly, this would come to over $1.3 trillion, which in those days I believe was a lot of money although today Borg knows you can hardly get a tank of gas for less than $2 gongillion. Anyway, I began attempting to fix my translation headset as the speeches continued, but I continued to pick up fragments. I will have to confirm with the ship’s backup recordings, but I believe the same ugly man also stated that people who did not vote for him would be attending a place called “hell,” which after a brief jorblenet search I found to be a term for some sort of immortal torture location within the belief system of this civilization. To me, this seems like a harsh punishment, but I came to believe that these inhabitants thought of the ugly old man as their deity. There was little negative reaction to anything he told them, even when stating untruths such as that the area was “packed” (whereas from my calculations it seemed to be at a relatively low percentage of habitation. Perhaps “packed” is a piece of linguistic vernacular that my translator does not include and instead means something more like “a little more than half full or so”). 

The inhabitants also allowed themselves to be led in a sort of religious pact or oath, chanting that they respected the man as “the greatest President in the history of the United States that loves us so much he can’t breathe,” that they would “go out with … family and friends” and vote “if I’m registered or not. I’m going to try and cheat like hell.” This was surprising, because from what I had learned in Ancient History Seminar, cheating was generally a thing that the American peoples’ deity forbade, and so Americanites generally frowned on it unless it was conducted by the upper-class members of its caste system. I think I’ll have to take my translation software to the shop. 

After the event, I tried to ask some of the inhabitants what was going on. I believe there was some sort of virus spreading, though, because each person I asked responded with an exuberant “Trumpapalooza!” “Bless you,” I would respond. Good thing my reflective suit was also antibacterial. Switching tact, I tried to find out how each inhabitant ended up here. Surprisingly, I found that some of them had paid up to $20,000 (equivalent to approximately 3.8 squintillion in 2961 currency) to be there, while others had been given tickets for free or won them from lottery-style giveaways. Another sign pointing to this occurrence being of religious significance, as it includes an element of chance destining some to attend and some not to.

Having collected this fascinating research, I have begun preparations to return to my research academy. I believe that my dissertation thesis concerning religious practice in the ancient Americanite civilizations of the 1800-2300 period has been overall upheld by my immersion experience, although the technical difficulties were certainly annoying. In fact, as well as the potential issues with my translation software, I worry that the supply hold is loosening and will not latch properly. Hopefully nothing of value to my studies will fall out as I fly rapidly around the earth, attempting to gain enough velocity to shift back to the present day. Maybe in the future it will be more convenient to time travel. It’s so Borg-damn frustrating. 

Signing off,

Captain L. P. Exivor, Research Assistant for Prof. Broxiffle of the Ancient Studies Department, Ziglat State University.

You know their name. You know their major. You know where they usually sit in the cafeteria, what club they are involved in, or which professor they complain about after class. You have probably had at least one conversation that lasted long enough to make you think, I actually really like this person. You are not friends, exactly. But you are not strangers either.

College is full of people who occupy this strange middle ground. They are the people you recognize across campus, wave to when you pass them, talk to after class, and exchange the familiar phrase “ let’s hang out sometime.” You might follow each other on Instagram and know just enough about each other’s lives to feel familiar, but somehow never actually spend time together outside of the place where you met.

These are the people you keep almost becoming friends with.

Somewhere Between Stranger and Friend

College is an especially unique environment for creating these almost-friendships because our lives are divided into various spaces. You have your classes, your dorm, your job, your sport, your student organizations and the people you happen to sit next to at lunch. You can know someone well in one of those settings without ever getting to know them anywhere else.

This someone might be the person you always talk to before class, but once the professor dismisses everyone, you go your separate ways. You might spend three hours together at an organization meeting every week but never think to invite each other to the cafeteria. You might have a surprisingly deep conversation with someone at an event and then not see them again for a month.

None of these interactions are necessarily meaningless, in fact, some of them can make a large campus feel considerably smaller. There is something comforting about recognizing people. You start to notice familiar faces on your way to class; you know who will probably be sitting in the same spot at the next meeting. You begin to develop a collection of people you are happy to see, even if you would never describe them as close friends. Maybe that is one of the more underrated parts of college, not everyone you meet has to become a significant person in your life for the interaction to matter.

The “We Should Hang Out” Promise

Naturally, this is where the phrase “we should hang out sometime” gets thrown around. It is one of the most commonly used sentences in college, and it can mean almost anything. Sometimes it is genuine. Sometimes it is a polite way to end a conversation. Sometimes both people genuinely want to spend more time together but never figure out when. And sometimes, six months later, you run into that same person and realize you have said the exact same thing to each other at least three times. The funny thing is that neither person is necessarily lying. College students are busy. Between classes, homework, work, athletics, organizations and whatever else fills the calendar, finding time to turn a casual friendship into an actual friendship can be surprisingly difficult. There is also something slightly vulnerable about being the person who follows up.

It is easy to say, “We should hang out.”

It is harder to send the text: “Are you free Thursday?”

The second question creates the possibility of an actual answer. Maybe they are busy. Maybe they say no. Maybe they already have plans with someone else. Or maybe they say yes and the friendship actually moves beyond the hallway conversation. Sometimes the only thing standing between an acquaintance and a friend is someone being willing to make the first move, but that does not mean every almost-friendship needs to make that transition.

Maybe Almost-Friends Are Not a Bad Thing

There is a tendency to think of relationships as something that should constantly be moving forward. You meet someone, become friends, become close friends, and eventually add them to the group of people you cannot imagine college without. But real relationships do not always work that way. Some people will become your closest friends, others will remain the person you always enjoy talking to after class. Some will disappear from your life after a semester, some will come back to it years later. A person you barely knew freshman year might become a close friend later, while someone you spent every weekend with might eventually become little more than a familiar face.

There is no universal trajectory.

That can be especially easy to forget when social media makes friendship look so definitive. We see the group photos, birthday posts, weekend trips, and inside jokes, but rarely the dozens of casual relationships surrounding them. We see those who appear to be close without seeing how long it took to develop those friendships. The result is a strange pressure to categorize our own relationships. Are we friends? Are we actually close? Why wasn’t I invited? Should I be talking to them more? Sometimes the answer can simply be: We know each other. And that is enough.

Let People Surprise You

The best part about these almost-friendships is that they are not necessarily permanent. The person you only know from one class could end up becoming a close friend. The person you met during orientation might become someone you barely speak to by senior year. Someone you never expected to connect with might eventually become one of the most important people in your college experience.

That uncertainty is part of the fun.

College is one of the few times in life when you are constantly being introduced to new people, and there is no way to know which conversations will matter months or years from now. That does not mean every interaction needs to be carefully cultivated. It simply means there is value in being open to them.

So maybe the next time you tell someone, “We should hang out sometime,” you can actually make the plan. Or maybe you will see them next week, smile, ask how their class went, and continue on your way. Either way, you do not have to decide immediately what that person is going to mean to you. Some people become friends. Some remain acquaintances. Some become familiar faces who make campus feel a little more like home. And sometimes, the person you keep almost becoming friends with is exactly that: someone you have not become friends with yet. There is plenty of time for that to change.

For many of us, 2016 was a particularly formative year in our childhoods. I had just turned 10 years old and had been given my very first phone. I couldn’t wait for what the wonders of the World Wide Web had in store! I don’t think I ever could have prepared for what made headlines in early 2016 as the world met Sophia, the AI humanoid robot! And my first reaction seeing this new technological marvel? EW oh dear LORD EW! What is that THING?

The main issue is the face, which has been ripped straight from the depths of uncanny valley. Then there’s the see-through window into its “brain,” which is an odd choice. I mean, if I were to design a robot to be as normal and human-like as possible, I don’t know that I’d want to include a window into the gaping cavity in its mind, proving that its very existence is a falsehood and there is in fact no soul in this electronic husk of a “human”. But hey, that’s just me! Another big issue I have is that the face moves and is animated to some degree. Whatever mechanism moves the facade of flesh just doesn’t do a good enough job, and so all of Sophia’s facial expressions give off a vibe somewhere between a run-down theme park animatronic from the 90’s and your average celebrity that has frozen their face with too much botox and filler. Beside the face being covered in a flesh-toned exterior, the “skin” extends down to about the collarbone and then just ends. So the most human feature of the robot extends from the forehead to the neck. That’s it, really? Did they run out of budget for beige silicone? Or was it an intentional choice to make the rest of the body of the “humanoid” robot to look nothing like a human?

I recently came across a video where Sophia was “singing” with a live orchestra. The text of this song began with the line “I don’t want you to be afraid,” and personally that line does nothing besides invoke fear in my heart. Beside offending musicians around the globe by calling that poor excuse of a performance “classical music,” Sophia expresses its wish to connect with human emotions through art. Please, don’t. If you want to connect with human emotion, why not start with disgust and disappointment from me, a living, breathing singer who is sitting here wondering if she will ever have a job because robots are learning to sing. Sophia doesn’t need a paycheck or healthcare or even a soul, so why would anyone ever spend money on paying a human musician who requires all of those things? 

So really, thank you to Sophia for not only being a horror of human creation, but also reminding me of my future unemployment! But please, consider putting on some more skin? Maybe a wig? You’re really creeping me out.