The seven windows

McKenna Snow
Class of 2024

(1/2021) When I chose my business major, I walked through a welcoming door, into a very pretty mechanical box. It had high ceilings, lots of rooms, and a staircase. Because of all its cogs and wheels and gears, the box made a lot of noise, and got the attention of a lot of the world. I was proud to live in that big mechanical box. I had the freedom to go in and out of the front door, which connected me to the rest of the world, whenever I wanted. I truly loved being in the box, because when I was in there, learning about my future career, I better enabled myself to help a lot of people. I could make a big difference in my box, creating, inventing, thinking of new ways to reach my future customers. I could design, employ, dream, and memorize. Another big plus about staying in this mechanical box was that I really liked its interior. It had couches, decor, and loads of hefty books about the field of business. Not to mention, so much technology was at my disposal.

But something that really fascinated me after I came into the box were its seven windows. I began looking through the windows during the first week of my stay in the box. Each one showed me some different scene from the outside world.

In one window, I looked out and saw miles and miles of sand and ocean. People walked up and down the shore in quiet contemplation. They watched the sunrise and sunset, and all they did was think. Part of me wanted to learn what all those people were thinking. As I sat at the sill, a girl from the beach came up to the window and we conversed through the screen. "What are you thinking about out there?" I asked her. She replied simply, "We are just thinking about why we are who we are—and what that means about everything else."

The next window was a breathtaking sight: the imagery was constantly shifting. I first saw ancient cities, and the people who governed them. The scene then changed to a coliseum, with lions emerging from the dark to appease a great angry crowd. I then saw a massive stone castle. Knights rode across the plane, carrying a beautiful white flag with a red cross in the center. Then three ships were at sea, crashing over the waves. And so the scene continued to change, over and over again. It showed a brilliant history of the human race in vivid detail, portraying both the beautiful and the tragic.

The third window showed me a large museum, full of marble statues and acrylic paintings and brilliant-colored vases. In one corner of the museum a massive orchestra played, and I wished I could get the window open so I could listen to their music while I worked.

The fourth window captivated me in a way I did not expect. I saw a large backyard, with trees, a wrap-around porch, and at least two dozen people. A man was grilling barbeque and a group of young adults were playing cards at a picnic table. At least ten children ran about the yard, swinging on a tire swing, and playing red-light-green-light. I assumed this scene was some sort of family reunion. Here was a portrayal of a happy little society. It occurred to me that being able to understand them as human beings, all with their own personalities, preferences, opinions and backgrounds, was essential to me as a businesswoman.

The fifth window showed me a beautiful feat of architecture: towers of all shapes and sizes, a library, and churches of exquisite design. The amount of geometric skill that must’ve been required to successfully craft these massive structures could not be overstated. Written on the inside of this window sill was 2+2=4. I admit that math and I were not wonderful friends, but this window amazed me.

The sixth window was up the staircase of my box. This window showed me a brilliant midnight sky struck through its heart by the Northern Lights. A thousand stars twinkled on either side of the Lights, and if I looked closely down at the ground, there were people gazing through telescopes.

The final window of my box showed me the inside of a church, with low lighting, and a candlelit spotlight on the monstrance on the altar. Someone in the church noticed my presence at the window, and came up to me. "What are you doing in there?" I asked him. He answered me, "We come in here to contemplate God. We get to know Him better in here, and in studying theology." I envied those in this quiet place, who did not always listen to all the noisy gears of my box. I wanted to open this window and climb through.

After exploring these seven windows, I was astounded to wake up the next morning and discover that the windows had turned into doors. Who had done this? I contacted the University that gave me my box. They told me that through my University’s curriculum, which doesn’t want me to study solely about my major, such windows become doors.

I now have the freedom to travel through the doors and explore these scenes thoroughly, and bring back what I can to make my box better. I’ve since then brought back much sand from the seaside of philosophy, history that better prepares me for the future of my business, and music that helps me study more efficiently. I’ve made friends with that family, and understand their dynamics better through studying anthropology. The arithmetic I learned through the fifth door helps me crunch numbers for my business better. The night sky is a place I sit under to study—the same night sky the medieval astronomers looked upon. And that quiet church is a place I frequent to know better the One who made my soul. These doors changed life in my box so much. It is a richer place because of these "liberal arts doors." In fact, where I reside is no longer a box. All its corners and edges have been worn away; now it is a big, well-rounded home.