A classmate inquired about my major. "What is it?" she wanted to know. I responded truthfully, "Biology," as I had for other inquirers. She paused for some seconds and looked puzzled, as if she were trying place the subject into a specific field of work; I'd seen this before. There was always this puzzled pause. She asked me what I intended to do with a degree in biology. Normally I do not address that question or address it in a way not indicative of my true intent, because I do not consider it a legitimate question.

What will I do with it? Could it be that after earning it, I will possess a wealth of astounding knowledge? Is that not a worthy enough mission for these people? Why do I have to plan to "do" anything with it? Must every scrap of knowledge be subject to an immediate monetary application, such as nursing or dentistry, in order to have merit? Doesn't the degree have merit in and of itself?

I could hear the "M" forming on her lips; the next words were going to be "medical school?" Her suspicion being that I had designs on being a doctor or a nurse. To halt any blasphemous pronunciation from her, as I really am quite tired of seeing either of these two professions speculatively superimposed over my goals, I for the first time blurted out an honest and direct answer as to my intent. I intended as much to quiet her as I did to test for a reaction, as I really had no idea how someone might react to my ambitions. I articulated loudly, but allowed for some hesitation as to invite her critique.

I answered, "I want a PhD in Genetics. I want to contribute to research. I want to be a geneticist."

Now this was odd. What was her response? Was it surprise, encouragement, disdain, curiosity, or indifference!? It was none. She responded in utter silence. She abandoned eye contact and did not utter another word on the topic. How ought I to gauge this as a reaction? Did she detect how weary I was of the topic, and did that quiet her? Did she quiet herself just to privately scoff at such an achievement? Was she so surprised by this unusual answer that she was at a loss and withdrew? Perhaps she had no thoughts whatsoever, and would have responded similarly to any answer I gave. Perhaps I am futile and analyze too much.

On my way home, I was approached at a bus stop by a man who took note of the fact that I was reading the last few pages of an Ayn Rand novel. His immediate intent was to identify my political and moral alignment with Rand’s philosophy as well as to ascertain my familiarity with her. I can’t be certain of his motive, but he was satisfied enough with my outlook as to carry a conversation with me.

He was in his forties, very articulate, finely dressed and kempt. I suspected some kind of ailment or substance abuse, as he seemed to produce beads of sweat despite the blistering cold and was suspiciously jittery. He discussed with me his recent purchase of property in the neighborhood and revealed himself an entrepreneur in several projects, a certified pilot (for which he produced a license of some kind), a teacher, and a libertarian. He spoke of travels, of plans, of odd tid-bits about flying and about the city’s zoning laws. He spoke about ethics, about academics, about libertarianism, and about healthy living.

We boarded the same bus and the exchange continued. I do not believe that I can adequately convey the depth or variety of knowledge that he demonstrated as we proceeded down the bus route. The startling fact is that I was so caught off guard by him that I forewent my stop and stayed on the bus, listening to him for an entire circuit and a half of the bus route. It must have been two to three hours.

For that entire time, he spoke incessantly; he did not pause or hesitate once, and I contributed no more than twenty words and much nodding. It was not a discussion, it was a unilateral dumping of knowledge and ideas; he could hardly speak fast enough to alleviate the buildup of thoughts and subjects as they rapidly occurred to him. I did nothing but listen. I suspect that if I hadn’t chosen to leave when I did, he would have continued for several more circuits. I only left because I was beginning to suspect ulterior motives for his carrying this exchange. Such was not expressed in any discernible fashion, but the possibility of such had come into my mind.

The fact that I stayed so long revealed something about me, because it’s strikingly uncommon for me to socialize with people. My “friends” are all intellectually, emotionally and physically distant from me, and I normally categorically refuse to socialize with or entertain the company of other people, so this behavior was unlike me. People have approached me at bus stops and at school before, and I dismiss their company rudely. What was different about this man was that he immediately convinced me that I was his intellectual inferior, or at least on par with him. That’s what captivated me, because I so very often, and in such an arrogant, stubborn and latent fashion, see the people around me as being beneath me. It captivates me, however briefly, when I find an intelligent individual with such a profoundly deep and intricate internal structure. Perhaps I yearn for that kind of company without being wholly aware of it.

There is a hidden longing in me for a connection with someone. It’s a dangerous impulse. I suspect it will take years to stifle and kill it completely, but I will succeed at that.

In conducting my affairs, I incessantly pose questions to justify my course of action. "What exactly am I doing?" "Why am I doing this?" "Do the projected benefits of this outweigh the potential costs?" "How does this relate to the scheme of my worldview?" In recent months, I've found myself forcing like questions onto the matter of friendship. What is friendship? Are the people around me friends? Why am I engaging in this social bondage to them? What is the benefit? Is this incongruent with my morality?

To complicate the matter, no person or encyclopedic source can provide me with clear and definite criteria for friendship. I myself have no definitive criteria; the people around me who call themselves my friends and vice versa are permitted the position only out of a habitual convenience. They have been there for so long and so devoutly that I've simply lacked the motivation and rhetoric to discharge them, yet I am faced with a growing uneasiness with my inability to justify their rank in my life in practical or principle terms. I have a gnawing suspicion that they do not belong there.

I might suppose, for simplicity, that friendship is merely a mutually elevated regard between two or more people based on some personal inclination. Practices and policies often attributed to friendship such as openness and emotional support flow from this elevated regard. This leaves me with the question of justifying my own partaking in this social practice. Is there a reason for me to regard these people exceptionally? Is it because they themselves are of exceptional merit? Is it because they are exceptionally important to my affairs?

As in any interaction, there is ideally the demand for beneficial exchange. I am expected to give something that they desire in exchange for something that I desire. Friendship doesn't normally seem to follow this framework, however, because things are seemingly expected to be given free of return. This is categorically unacceptable by me. How can I be demanded to sacrifice my effort and resources without any benefit in return? Am I a sacrifice upon the altar of "friendship," merely a transitional means to their ends? It would seem so, as they unspokenly expect me to give unto them what they need without my explicit want for a return, and returns are something that I do not acquire from them. Their company does me little benefit; their resources are irrelevant to my needs; I have all of the emotional support I need in myself; they offer feelings of social adequacy and acceptance, but I've never needed these things before, and cannot glean what use they are to me now. It would seem that I gain nothing substantial from them.

There is perhaps another justification of friendship. Perhaps in their characters there are virtues and values that I hold in high regard, and because of that, I may desire to see them be made to prosper. If I value certain principles and see those principles reflected in the lives and philosophies of like minded people, then they themselves must hold elevated value to me, and it would be a tribute to the framework of my own principles to see them blessed with my company and loyalty. Is there any such reflection of myself in my friends today? There is not. None of my perspectives or values are akin to theirs. In most of my friends, there is never any agreement between our experiences, perspectives or morality.

Having reflected on this, I conclude that there is no justification for me to continue this social bondage with any of them.