It’s the last thing you hear in the final episode of “The Office.” Pam Beesly, considering why on earth a (fake) documentary team would choose to chronicle a plain old paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania, has an epiphany.

“All in all, I think an ordinary paper company like Dunder Mifflin is a great subject for a documentary,” Pam says. “There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that kind of the point?”

The perfect bow on the series is also the most perceptive moment. Pam’s point is always in the back of my head: finding beauty in the mundane. In many ways it’s become my worldview — appreciating the little things every day, searching for the best in everything.

That means jogging through campus, mind racing miles faster than my feet. It’s playing Beerio Kart with my friends the first week of senior year, then running it back the week of graduation. Trotting back on defense after a swish. Recounting the past night’s shenanigans over hungover Dunkin. Singing goofy songs in the car or when you just have to pump it up. Beauty in the mundane can be crashing early after a long day, but also waking up next to someone you actually like.

I first understood what Pam meant during the summer before my freshman year, at the Twin Willows dive bar in Narragansett, Rhode Island. There, as a busboy and later a waiter, the little things were bantering with the wait staff, flirting at the hostess stand and washing the fried food stench off after shifts. Then doing it all over again.

Twin Willows was the best job I’ve ever had (though surely that won’t be the case forever). I worked alongside college kids like me, teachers on summer break, single mothers and ex-convicts. The job, like reporting, was all about human interaction and relationships.

I found everything there, but most importantly I discovered what Pam did in “The Office:” the euphoria in the ordinary.

A similar thing happened at Syracuse, when the people inside a crumbling house on Ostrom Ave made every day special. I’m not going to remember all the stories I wrote or the meetings I led, rather the Slack jokes, the individual connections I made and the D.O. Friday beers. Catching up with management and chirping the copy editors.

The little things are different for everyone, and being able to appreciate them is a privilege. This last year has made that explicitly clear. I wouldn’t be able to bask in the little things if I had to worry about life-or-death, food-on-the-table matters. I’ve lived a wonderfully charmed life, and I’m lucky in a million ways.

I’m even lucky to be able to pursue my dream of sports reporting — it’s a luxury for my family to support me since I was in Ms. Cummings’ first-grade class making picture books about Boston sports heroes with markers. And in my experience in journalism, I’ve learned the “little things” ideology applies similarly.

Sports reporters sometimes have to dig to discover what on the surface might appear normal. Danny Green is a career role player, but he’s better than every other NBA player at one small thing. We also have to do the inverse: make the extraordinary relatable. Michael Jordan can be the best to ever pick up a basketball, but what’s interesting is his midlife crisis.

Moments before Pam’s introspective quote, side show character Creed Bratton shares something on the same plane. He reflects on just how random things can be, how the universe works in mysterious ways.

“It all seems so very arbitrary,” Creed says. “I applied to a job at this company because they were hiring. I took a desk at the back because it was empty. But no matter how you get there or where you end up, humans have this miraculous gift to make that place home.”

College was everything I always dreamed. I loved just about every second of it. For every dumb mistake, there were hundreds of laughs and dozens of memories. I’m going to really miss it. And even though it’s over now, and even though I don’t know exactly where I’m heading, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Because wherever I end up, there will be little things to love. That’s the real miraculous gift.

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Danny Emerman was a senior staff writer for The Daily Orange, where his column will no longer appear. He can be reached at [email protected] and on Twitter @DannyEmerman.

Published on May 13, 2021 at 2:14 am