Congratulations on Being Smart. Can You Now Become Wise?
Dear Graduates,
Congratulations on earning your degree! You should be proud of yourselves. Even those of you that struggled to adjust the strap on your backpack as a freshman should feel a little smarter today. Even if you feel a little ridiculous standing there in a square hat all wearing the same dress, soak in the moment, stand tall, and let yourself appreciate this special day. Today we celebrate your effort, your achievement, and, yes, your intelligence. You are a smart group. My challenge for you as you begin the next chapter of your life is also to become wise.
When I was fresh out of college, my first job was as a math teacher in Monticello, Indiana, about 30 minutes north of West Lafayette, the home of the Purdue Boilermakers. Although I completed my undergraduate degree at Ball State, some of my friends still had a semester of schooling to complete at Purdue. Since I was looking for a place to live, I jumped at the chance to become roommates with some of my high school friends - Scott Tretter and Jason Hasenour - and an equally entertaining and nice guy that I had more recently met, Tony Hutchins.
Even before I moved in, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Bosco, Scott’s dog, would also be my roommate. Bosco, or Sco Dog as I frequently called him, was a big Staffordshire Terrier with a smooth coat that looked like it was carefully designed and painted by an artist. He was mostly white with patches of black and dark brown that resembled the coat of a tiger. He had just a small black spot over his right eye - making him look both like a thoughtful, attentive listener among friends and a no-nonsense, fierce fighter with those that he viewed as threats.
Although we introduced him often as Scott’s pet, that never quite accurately described his hierarchy in the apartment. Bosco was like a lion in a jungle. He was king of the apartment, ruler of all that entered his space. His room, or perhaps more accurately, his throne, was the most prominent feature of the small apartment. The moment you entered the front door, you couldn’t help but notice a carefully crafted hole in the wall that functioned as the doorway for Bosco’s living quarters. Just in case the gaping hole didn’t catch your attention, ceramic flooring lead into his humble home and a painted image of a house, complete with a mailbox, adorned his entryway. We all hailed Bosco. I was partially convinced that Scott went into construction engineering simply so he had sufficient skills to build Bosco a proper palace in the apartment.
Bosco’s overall size, rounded face, thick neck, wide shoulders, and deep bark could be intimidating to others at times. But, his calm demeanor, soulful gazes, and attentive nature made him impossible not to love. He had become just one of the guys, packing on more than the “freshman 15” - living the lazy and luxurious life of eating too much, drinking too much, and sleeping too much. On weekday mornings, when I woke early to get ready to go to my teaching job, I would find Sco Dog lying on his back on the sofa (the same sofa he was not supposed to sit on) with a pillow tucked under his head, with his paws just dangling off to the side. His big belly would swell with the exhale of his deep breaths, like a human that had fallen asleep watching TV. When I would turn on a light in the kitchen to make my way around the apartment, Bosco would open one eye, look at me with annoyment, and just roll over on his side to look away from the light and return to his deep breathing.
He was mild-mannered and seemed content just watching basketball and episodes of Friends with us. The only indication of his inner beast was when he was given his special treat, a roasted pig ear. When he had his snack within reach, all bets were off. Even if you stepped accidentally in his direction while he was mauling on his pig ear, his soft dark-brown eyes would immediately transform into a deadly stare, and his snout would tighten revealing his strong teeth, and he would give one of the coldest, deepest throaty growls that would immediately tell you that he wasn’t playin’.
Bosco provided both comradery and entertainment to us and anyone that would visit. He seemed to understand everything we said and marveled everyone with his ability to follow our commands. Sure, he may have gotten a Dorito bag stuck on his head once, but we didn’t see that as a lapse in intellect as much as the challenge that comes from having a big head and lack of thumbs. We liked to show off his talents. We could place a dog biscuit on top of his snout and give the command “stay.” He would sit frozen with deep concentration in his eyes as if the biscuit would explode like a small bomb should it strike the floor. He would sit there for literally minutes sometimes, with slobber dripping from his mouth, and the biscuit resting motionless on his snout. And then with the simple words “get it,” Bosco would shake his head and snatch the biscuit midair in his jaws making it disappear like a magician.
One of our proudest moments came on a Saturday when we finally completed the difficult challenge of teaching Bosco how to get us a beer from the refrigerator. For some reason that perhaps those of you who studied dog psychology or dog neurology can explain, we had to give him the directions in two commands, but it was still an impressive display of understanding and sheer talent. We put a rope that he could bite with his big jaws around the door handle of the refrigerator. We would give the command: “Open the fridge, Bosco!” Those words would set Bosco in motion. He would go to the refrigerator, tilt his big head sideways, clench the rope in his jaws, and begin to back up, causing the refrigerator door to swing open.
He would stand by the refrigerator waiting for the second command: “Bring a beer, Bosco.” And, with that, Bosco would put his thick head into the refrigerator, tilt it sideways, and grab a bottle of beer from the side, and with concentration in his eyes and delight and pride radiating from his wagging tail, he would bring us our slobbery beer. In truth, the trick was rarely performed with perfection and frequently didn’t go exactly as planned. Lots of times the beer would get knocked over in the refrigerator or dropped on the way back to us, but when he pulled off the stunt, it was magical. We would give a big toast to our Sco Dog and scratch his big short-haired body for a job well done.
We thought Bosco was a genius. And, in truth, we were pretty proud of ourselves too. We only imagined what else our Dog Wonder might be able to do for us. Who knows, maybe he also would be able to clean those dishes stacking up in the sink with his pristine tongue. We went out that night to celebrate - both our impressive accomplishment and, well, because we celebrated every Saturday night. But this night was different. We all had a little extra bounce in our step and wider grins on our face - because we had done something special. Something brilliant. We had taught Bosco how to get us a beer!
We made our way back to the apartment at the end of our evening out. Even though I had already had my fill of beer for the night, I found myself wanting another one, just to see Sco Dog work his magic. “Brilliant. We are brilliant!” I cheerfully thought to myself again as we fumbled to open the door to the apartment.
When we opened the door, we were shocked to see a mess scattered across the living room and kitchen floor. We weren’t necessarily a tidy group, but this was different. It looked like we were ransacked. There were pieces of raw meat, smashed eggs, an empty pizza box, and wrappings from bacon and sausage sprinkled across the floor like confetti. We all stood at the doorway staring, confused at what we were witnessing. And, then we saw it, the clue that unraveled the mystery. The refrigerator door was wide open. We called for Bosco. Instead of greeting us with his normal enthusiasm, he slumbered out of his cave sheepishly, with his tail between his legs and guilt and regret in his eyes. Bosco had eaten just about everything in the refrigerator and left his trail of his night of gluttony both in the kitchen and throughout the living room.
I said the same words that ran through my head only moments ago before we entered the apartment, only this time with a flat tone indicating sarcasm. “Brilliant. We are brilliant.” I said taking stock again of the mess in front of us. “I don’t think we thought this through. We taught a dog to open the refrigerator.” I added acknowledging our stupidity.
My undergraduate work included multiple courses in calculus, differential equations, statistics, mathematical modeling, abstract geometry, and various courses in psychology and education. I graduated Summa Cum Laude. My roommates and friends were about to graduate from Purdue also with an impressive resume of various engineering, math, physics, and construction courses, internships, and experiences under their belt. Only a few months before, I had stood also in my cap and gown, with someone giving a speech about my future. Although I don’t recall the particulars of that speech, I think it was a mixture of praise and optimism about our future. We were the ones that were going to create a better world for everyone. And, yet, here I stood shoulder to shoulder with the faces of the future in a wrecked apartment with an empty refrigerator and a fat dog.
And, we were supposed to be the smart ones, but we were certainly not wise.
Smart means different things to different people. I think of smart as a mixture of what you know and your ability to learn something new. There are people that get labeled smart because of test scores, academic achievements, or other qualities that get associated with formal education. There are others that get labeled smart because of their reasoning skills, intuitive way of solving problems, and knowledge and ability to deal with new or difficult situations, or what often gets called street smarts. As a society, we even try to quantify one’s cognitive aptitude with a manufactured Intelligence Quotient or IQ. However, the word smart often doesn’t account for drive and effort or other forms of intelligence, like emotional intelligence.
Wisdom, on the other hand, is about judgement and decision making. It is about doing what is right. Wisdom considers past experiences, sensitivity to others, ethical and moral factors, and relies on both your brain and your heart. Being smart and wise are not mutually exclusive, but the following chart explains how I seem them as different:
On June 14, 2018, I was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer. This past year, I have thought a lot about my own life. I have reflected on my accomplishments and my failures, on life’s moments that brought me joy and laughter and experiences that have brought me sorrow and tears. Cancer certainly did not make me smarter. In fact, when I was undergoing chemotherapy, I had difficulty processing the simplest of concepts, and just about everything that I read, listened to, or watched felt overwhelming. And yet, it has made me more sensitive to other people’s suffering, grateful for my many blessings, and more attuned to what is really important in life. I certainly won’t claim to be a wise man, but I do believe that my suffering, heightened realization of my mortality, and the love that I have seen in others, have made me a little wiser.
For the last several years, you have been tested so others could see what you do and don’t know. You have passed. Again, I commend you for your new degree, applaud your achievement and honor your intelligence. But, now as a graduate, you face a different, but more important test. Now, you will be tested by deciding what to do with what you know and how to face what you don’t know.
As you finish this chapter of your schooling, I hope you commit to being a learner forever. No, I am not suggesting that you must enroll in more classes. (At some point, I think your parents will want you to get a job.) I am simply challenging you to see yourself as a learner in all situations. But, more importantly, I hope you will each strive not just to become smarter, but to become wiser. Sure, some of your brilliant ideas still will turn out messy, like a dog trick that goes amok. And, life will still hand you surprises, like a terminal disease that turns your world upside down. But, even when you find yourself staring into the shatters of what was once whole, I hope you end up as fortunate as me - surrounded by people that are there for you and who help you find joy, laughter, comfort, and peace with what remains.
Congratulations on earning your degree! You should be proud of yourselves. Even those of you that struggled to adjust the strap on your backpack as a freshman should feel a little smarter today. Even if you feel a little ridiculous standing there in a square hat all wearing the same dress, soak in the moment, stand tall, and let yourself appreciate this special day. Today we celebrate your effort, your achievement, and, yes, your intelligence. You are a smart group. My challenge for you as you begin the next chapter of your life is also to become wise.
When I was fresh out of college, my first job was as a math teacher in Monticello, Indiana, about 30 minutes north of West Lafayette, the home of the Purdue Boilermakers. Although I completed my undergraduate degree at Ball State, some of my friends still had a semester of schooling to complete at Purdue. Since I was looking for a place to live, I jumped at the chance to become roommates with some of my high school friends - Scott Tretter and Jason Hasenour - and an equally entertaining and nice guy that I had more recently met, Tony Hutchins.
Even before I moved in, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Bosco, Scott’s dog, would also be my roommate. Bosco, or Sco Dog as I frequently called him, was a big Staffordshire Terrier with a smooth coat that looked like it was carefully designed and painted by an artist. He was mostly white with patches of black and dark brown that resembled the coat of a tiger. He had just a small black spot over his right eye - making him look both like a thoughtful, attentive listener among friends and a no-nonsense, fierce fighter with those that he viewed as threats.
Although we introduced him often as Scott’s pet, that never quite accurately described his hierarchy in the apartment. Bosco was like a lion in a jungle. He was king of the apartment, ruler of all that entered his space. His room, or perhaps more accurately, his throne, was the most prominent feature of the small apartment. The moment you entered the front door, you couldn’t help but notice a carefully crafted hole in the wall that functioned as the doorway for Bosco’s living quarters. Just in case the gaping hole didn’t catch your attention, ceramic flooring lead into his humble home and a painted image of a house, complete with a mailbox, adorned his entryway. We all hailed Bosco. I was partially convinced that Scott went into construction engineering simply so he had sufficient skills to build Bosco a proper palace in the apartment.
Bosco’s overall size, rounded face, thick neck, wide shoulders, and deep bark could be intimidating to others at times. But, his calm demeanor, soulful gazes, and attentive nature made him impossible not to love. He had become just one of the guys, packing on more than the “freshman 15” - living the lazy and luxurious life of eating too much, drinking too much, and sleeping too much. On weekday mornings, when I woke early to get ready to go to my teaching job, I would find Sco Dog lying on his back on the sofa (the same sofa he was not supposed to sit on) with a pillow tucked under his head, with his paws just dangling off to the side. His big belly would swell with the exhale of his deep breaths, like a human that had fallen asleep watching TV. When I would turn on a light in the kitchen to make my way around the apartment, Bosco would open one eye, look at me with annoyment, and just roll over on his side to look away from the light and return to his deep breathing.
He was mild-mannered and seemed content just watching basketball and episodes of Friends with us. The only indication of his inner beast was when he was given his special treat, a roasted pig ear. When he had his snack within reach, all bets were off. Even if you stepped accidentally in his direction while he was mauling on his pig ear, his soft dark-brown eyes would immediately transform into a deadly stare, and his snout would tighten revealing his strong teeth, and he would give one of the coldest, deepest throaty growls that would immediately tell you that he wasn’t playin’.
Bosco provided both comradery and entertainment to us and anyone that would visit. He seemed to understand everything we said and marveled everyone with his ability to follow our commands. Sure, he may have gotten a Dorito bag stuck on his head once, but we didn’t see that as a lapse in intellect as much as the challenge that comes from having a big head and lack of thumbs. We liked to show off his talents. We could place a dog biscuit on top of his snout and give the command “stay.” He would sit frozen with deep concentration in his eyes as if the biscuit would explode like a small bomb should it strike the floor. He would sit there for literally minutes sometimes, with slobber dripping from his mouth, and the biscuit resting motionless on his snout. And then with the simple words “get it,” Bosco would shake his head and snatch the biscuit midair in his jaws making it disappear like a magician.
One of our proudest moments came on a Saturday when we finally completed the difficult challenge of teaching Bosco how to get us a beer from the refrigerator. For some reason that perhaps those of you who studied dog psychology or dog neurology can explain, we had to give him the directions in two commands, but it was still an impressive display of understanding and sheer talent. We put a rope that he could bite with his big jaws around the door handle of the refrigerator. We would give the command: “Open the fridge, Bosco!” Those words would set Bosco in motion. He would go to the refrigerator, tilt his big head sideways, clench the rope in his jaws, and begin to back up, causing the refrigerator door to swing open.
He would stand by the refrigerator waiting for the second command: “Bring a beer, Bosco.” And, with that, Bosco would put his thick head into the refrigerator, tilt it sideways, and grab a bottle of beer from the side, and with concentration in his eyes and delight and pride radiating from his wagging tail, he would bring us our slobbery beer. In truth, the trick was rarely performed with perfection and frequently didn’t go exactly as planned. Lots of times the beer would get knocked over in the refrigerator or dropped on the way back to us, but when he pulled off the stunt, it was magical. We would give a big toast to our Sco Dog and scratch his big short-haired body for a job well done.
We thought Bosco was a genius. And, in truth, we were pretty proud of ourselves too. We only imagined what else our Dog Wonder might be able to do for us. Who knows, maybe he also would be able to clean those dishes stacking up in the sink with his pristine tongue. We went out that night to celebrate - both our impressive accomplishment and, well, because we celebrated every Saturday night. But this night was different. We all had a little extra bounce in our step and wider grins on our face - because we had done something special. Something brilliant. We had taught Bosco how to get us a beer!
We made our way back to the apartment at the end of our evening out. Even though I had already had my fill of beer for the night, I found myself wanting another one, just to see Sco Dog work his magic. “Brilliant. We are brilliant!” I cheerfully thought to myself again as we fumbled to open the door to the apartment.
When we opened the door, we were shocked to see a mess scattered across the living room and kitchen floor. We weren’t necessarily a tidy group, but this was different. It looked like we were ransacked. There were pieces of raw meat, smashed eggs, an empty pizza box, and wrappings from bacon and sausage sprinkled across the floor like confetti. We all stood at the doorway staring, confused at what we were witnessing. And, then we saw it, the clue that unraveled the mystery. The refrigerator door was wide open. We called for Bosco. Instead of greeting us with his normal enthusiasm, he slumbered out of his cave sheepishly, with his tail between his legs and guilt and regret in his eyes. Bosco had eaten just about everything in the refrigerator and left his trail of his night of gluttony both in the kitchen and throughout the living room.
I said the same words that ran through my head only moments ago before we entered the apartment, only this time with a flat tone indicating sarcasm. “Brilliant. We are brilliant.” I said taking stock again of the mess in front of us. “I don’t think we thought this through. We taught a dog to open the refrigerator.” I added acknowledging our stupidity.
My undergraduate work included multiple courses in calculus, differential equations, statistics, mathematical modeling, abstract geometry, and various courses in psychology and education. I graduated Summa Cum Laude. My roommates and friends were about to graduate from Purdue also with an impressive resume of various engineering, math, physics, and construction courses, internships, and experiences under their belt. Only a few months before, I had stood also in my cap and gown, with someone giving a speech about my future. Although I don’t recall the particulars of that speech, I think it was a mixture of praise and optimism about our future. We were the ones that were going to create a better world for everyone. And, yet, here I stood shoulder to shoulder with the faces of the future in a wrecked apartment with an empty refrigerator and a fat dog.
And, we were supposed to be the smart ones, but we were certainly not wise.
Smart means different things to different people. I think of smart as a mixture of what you know and your ability to learn something new. There are people that get labeled smart because of test scores, academic achievements, or other qualities that get associated with formal education. There are others that get labeled smart because of their reasoning skills, intuitive way of solving problems, and knowledge and ability to deal with new or difficult situations, or what often gets called street smarts. As a society, we even try to quantify one’s cognitive aptitude with a manufactured Intelligence Quotient or IQ. However, the word smart often doesn’t account for drive and effort or other forms of intelligence, like emotional intelligence.
Wisdom, on the other hand, is about judgement and decision making. It is about doing what is right. Wisdom considers past experiences, sensitivity to others, ethical and moral factors, and relies on both your brain and your heart. Being smart and wise are not mutually exclusive, but the following chart explains how I seem them as different:
On June 14, 2018, I was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer. This past year, I have thought a lot about my own life. I have reflected on my accomplishments and my failures, on life’s moments that brought me joy and laughter and experiences that have brought me sorrow and tears. Cancer certainly did not make me smarter. In fact, when I was undergoing chemotherapy, I had difficulty processing the simplest of concepts, and just about everything that I read, listened to, or watched felt overwhelming. And yet, it has made me more sensitive to other people’s suffering, grateful for my many blessings, and more attuned to what is really important in life. I certainly won’t claim to be a wise man, but I do believe that my suffering, heightened realization of my mortality, and the love that I have seen in others, have made me a little wiser.
For the last several years, you have been tested so others could see what you do and don’t know. You have passed. Again, I commend you for your new degree, applaud your achievement and honor your intelligence. But, now as a graduate, you face a different, but more important test. Now, you will be tested by deciding what to do with what you know and how to face what you don’t know.
As you finish this chapter of your schooling, I hope you commit to being a learner forever. No, I am not suggesting that you must enroll in more classes. (At some point, I think your parents will want you to get a job.) I am simply challenging you to see yourself as a learner in all situations. But, more importantly, I hope you will each strive not just to become smarter, but to become wiser. Sure, some of your brilliant ideas still will turn out messy, like a dog trick that goes amok. And, life will still hand you surprises, like a terminal disease that turns your world upside down. But, even when you find yourself staring into the shatters of what was once whole, I hope you end up as fortunate as me - surrounded by people that are there for you and who help you find joy, laughter, comfort, and peace with what remains.
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