There are moments when I think I’m smart. A list of my majors, accomplishments, projects, GPA, activities, community service, all scrunched together on a tiny eight by eleven sheet of paper to delineate to you that I’m smart. I’ve learned about Gauss’ law of magnetic fields and Wave Particle Duality, taken classes about beam deformation and analytical mechanics, studied hours for exams on sequences and series and systems. I’m doing all of this to convince you that I know what I’m doing, that I have some sort of grasp on how life works.

But then I remember that I had to look up how to use a can opener on YouTube the other week. There I was with my unopened can of beans, frustrated and famished, disgusted with my incompetence over such an elementary task. Now, I admit that my ineptitude may be attributed to some combination of my somewhat sheltered upbringing and lack of common sense, and is by no means a testimony to my generation. But it says here on paper that I’m supposed to be smart.

At WPI, we have this message engrained in our heads: Theory and Practice. This idea that understanding theory and teachings and ideas will give us this innate ability to perform and succeed. The Greek word “praxis” refers to freely engaged-in activity by which a theory, lesson, or skill is practiced, embodied, or realized. Aristotle believed there were three basic human activities: theoretical, whose goal is knowing the truth; productive, whose goal is making the beautiful; and practical, whose goal is doing the good. Theoretical thinking pursues knowledge for its own sake; productive activity refers to humans as artisans; practical activity concerns humans as moral and social beings trying to the right thing.

Aristotle thought that the idea of moral habits bridged the gap between, for instance, theoretical knowledge of whatever action was being proposed. And while this analysis is no doubt insightful, I can’t help but see a problem with it. My problem is that I can’t shake the fact that I don’t feel like I ever know what I’m doing, regardless of the degree of my theory. Because, when it comes down to it, I'm studying to be an engineer and am still incapable of operating a can opener.

When I think about any possible career path I might take, I’m overwhelmed by all the things I don’t know how to do. Right now, I have this idea that Future Rachel is going to learn all the things that I don’t know about. Somewhere down the line, I’ll understand taxes and 401K’s and how to change a tire and cook a meal from scratch. Somewhere down the line, IKEA will be my favorite store and I’ll know what owning a vacuum cleaner is like. All of these things seem so far off, but Future Rachel will get them done. I’m sure of it. I think.

It’s not really about the can opener at all, though. What’s worrying me is this crushing fear that I won’t be prepared for exactly every situation that comes my way, whether it be in a career, at home, or at school. I know about Gauss’ law but I can’t tell you what I really know. My resume says I’m Qualified but I’m telling you I’m scared. Maybe I’m not the only one that’s feeling like this, and Dear God I hope I’m not. And maybe by the time I graduate someone will put up a whole series on YouTube about how to navigate the real world. How to bridge the gap between theory and practice. For now, however, I'll be staying away from canned goods until further notice.