Doghead, Absurdity, and dreams
I have been having bad dreams lately. My dreams are reminiscent of the plot of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. But my dreams are so surreal that I felt like I was Gregor Samsa: Gregor Samsa’s transformation was absurd. His fate was absurd. Gregor’s family’s reaction to his transformation was absurd, for how could anyone remain calm? Instead of turning into a large insect, I at least get some comfort by turning into a lion, a tiger, a leopard. Instead of my family accompanying me, it was my friends at Colby. But the downside is that my dreams are less dramatic: I get killed very quickly, either by Waterville police or security…
I had these dreams before Doghead. These dreams must mean something! They could mean that I might miss the deadline of an essay due on March 18. They could mean that I will get transported due to over-intoxication. They could mean that I might get detained by Waterville police. But surely, they mean something, don’t they?
If these dreams mean something, all their meanings point toward one message: don’t go out for Doghead. I did not participate in the all-night events on Friday. I saved myself from troubles. What else to be said? But the next morning, my Instagram was loaded with stories and posts. The night seemed fun: everyone was dressed up, smiling, shining. As I realized I regretted my decision, it was already too late.
Perhaps the dreams don’t mean as much as I thought. They are but mindless creations, illusions, superficial and trivial. The most important thing is to have fun, to enjoy each of only four chances to celebrate Doghead at Colby. The meanings I had assigned to my dream are just excuses: I could have worked on my essay weeks ago; I will be careful not to drink like a sprint, but a marathon; and from what I heard, I don’t think the police will arrest many underage drinking suspects.
In the grave night-hour I lie, racked by these waking dreams. On any random day, we may realize we have all been transformed—we all will live Gregor’s absurd life. I was compelled by my impulsion to join the festival, but the harder I search for its meaning, the less clear it becomes. I could convince myself of the importance of the Doghead experience and the happy hours I will have with my friends.
Assigning meaning to essential activities is an important part of ranking my values. Through dreams, I find excuses to escape the struggle of the endless meaning-searching. But dreams, as you have seen, are useful only temporally. They are so limiting in nature that we have to constantly fabricate new dreams to replace the old. And the consequences are profound if the old dreams die to quickly and don’t get replaced by the new ones.
Another attitude to our absurd life is to fully accept it. Perhaps life is devoid of meaning. Doghead is pointless; partying is pointless. Can we extend this ‘absurd’ property to everything else? Can we say the same to marriage? What about studying? Work? Family? Money? Not necessarily. All dreams are futile attempts. But the full acceptance of our absurd life does not prohibit us from dreaming. In fact, it is important for us to dream. Take my previous examples. The dreams were excuses of escaping, but they don’t have to be interpreted as excuses: they are a reminder of this fundamental contradiction—the absurdity—and we struggle against it. But can our repetitive struggle against absurdity make us happy?
Zeus punishes Sisyphus to forever rolling a boulder up a hill. Was Sisyphus happy? Certainly not. He used to be the king of Corinth! But what if rolling the boulder was all he had? Will Sisyphus be happy? A struggle for something, to Sisyphus, is meaningless because life to him is no more than struggle. But if struggle is all what Sisyphus accepts, then he will find happiness in it. Perhaps, when rolling the boulder up the hill, he finds a beautiful sunrise, like many people here stayed up for through Friday night.
~ Conrad Wen '25
