In my three years here, I've worked my way through a lot of what I would call the traditional "wisdom texts": those works that we read time and time again, because either directly or indirectly they seem to offer us a message on how to live our lives. I've read everything from Plato to Ben Franklin - and of course, TJ - and quite a few things in between. In fact, I now have read Socrates' "Apology" so many times that I can tell you with complete certainty that the only thing I know for sure is that I know absolutely nothing.
My repertoire of wisdom texts isn't limited to secular philosophers. Through various religion and literature classes, I've worked my way through the Bible, the Bhagavad Gita, several works the Dalai Lama and Native American spirit tales, just to name a few.
All of these writers have had something worthwhile to say and I've come away from each with a slightly tweaked world view. Sometimes the tweak is permanent, and sometimes it fades with all the other information I forget during breaks. But there is one philosopher that rarely pops up in class, of whom I am especially fond - Anonymous.
I enjoy the wisdom of strangers. Often their insight is not as dignified or all-encompassing as the words of more celebrated names, but it is always the most appropriate to the situation.
When I'm down in the depths of Clemons cramming my brains out or desperately wracking them for a paper topic, Socrates' suggestion that true wisdom is the awareness that you know nothing is not especially comforting. I know I know nothing - that's why I can't write this paper!
So instead of pulling my hair out because of advice like that, I turn to Anonymous for comfort. It just so happens that some of Anonymous' best work is scribbled in the cubbies of Clemons' first floor.
I'll admit, Anonymous is pretty inconsistent. Bits of true wisdom are infrequent. Anonymous seems to have a penchant for truly awful - or masterful, depending on how you look at it - Virginia Tech jokes. There are even scatterings of questionable art mingled among the advice. Anonymous goes through periods where he is fascinated by the need to render male genitalia as rocket ships - see at least 10 desks on Clemons' quiet floor.
But scribbled among these less prolific messages, Anonymous always seems to have written just what I need to hear in my current state of crisis.
When I'm fighting the urge to succumb to my drooping eyelids, I usually find various encouraging words scratched in the wood nearby:
"I know I can do this. This exam will not beat me."
When I feel the overwhelming urge to complain, I can find some empathy in the many tick marks near my arm with the words, "Ten hours and counting. Final exams = death."
When I've been in the library about that long and my study grunge look is extremely noticeable, I feel a little bit less grody when I see a small flower and the words, "Hello gorgeous!"
All right, so most of the time Anonymous isn't offering me anything really deep, just something to help get me by. There are a few gems scattered around Clemons. I've come across at least three original poems that I thought were worth publishing beyond the world of a library cubby, and if you want advice about your college career, you've definitely come to the right place. Anonymous has written all kinds of tips on what classes to take or avoid. But sometimes those blander basic words are just what I need.
It's not the really grand statements of the few, but the more mundane statements of the many which I often find most comforting. When I read the words of Anonymous, I know that I'm not alone. Someone else has sat here, has been in my exact position and thought what I'm thinking.
Katie's column runs weekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at k.mcnally@cavalierdaily.com.
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