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Why I Go to St. John’s Shayna Jenkins To tell you why I go to St. John’s I must first explain my paranoia. I have this fear, constantly lurking inside me, that I cannot think. I have this fear that the words I string into sentences are simply meaningless ramblings—the empty thoughts from empty feelings of an 18-yearold trapped in the vanities of youth. I think this is probably true. I should mention another persistent fear: that I am nothing. It is inescapable. Because what do I have to show for who I am besides some mediocre artistic talent and a lot of unfinished tasks, thoughts, pursuits? I am a fearful person. My worries for myself and for the world, for family and friends and relationships—they control my thoughts. To deal with them I obsess over learning the perfect braid or the ideal way to do cat-eye eyeliner. Still, despite all of this, I chose St. John's College, where the superficialities of human nature only come out late at night, when the large cheese pizza is gone. Don't get me wrong. St. John’s is like most other colleges in America, where the residents’ lives are regularly consumed with the pursuit of easy pleasures. But in the leftover time, when students at other places are gazing lifelessly at computer screens, St. John’s students are off searching for something. It's hard to identify the object of that search, because it