Amare

The Right Question

The air in the classroom shifted slightly as the professor entered—a quiet authority that didn’t demand attention but naturally received it.

He was tall, with graying hair swept back, and carried a stack of folders and a coffee cup that bore the wear of daily use.

He placed his things on the desk at the front, glanced up, and smiled in a way that felt practiced but not insincere.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, his voice calm, steady, and somehow soothing in its simplicity. “Welcome to your first day. I hope you’re as excited as I am to get started.”

His words are elegant, holding the knowledge and experience from age.

My pencil stilled on the page as I glanced up briefly, watching the professor organize his materials. He didn’t rush. Every motion seemed deliberate, unhurried, as though time bent slightly to accommodate him.

I glanced around the room, observing the other students for the first time since I’d entered.

There was a girl with blonde hair sitting two rows ahead, doodling in a notebook like me, though her lines were bold and confident.

A boy in the back row leaned lazily against his chair, his arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on his lips as if he’d already decided this class wasn’t worth his attention.

Another boy in the front row, looking at the professor with a calm gaze, supporting his head with his palm, like watching a fairly interesting show unfold.

Others mirrored my own tension, their bodies angled inward, hands clasped tightly around pens or phones.

The professor began writing on the board, his handwriting neat but with a slight flourish that hinted at years of practice. His name: Dr. Elias Ward. Below it, the title of the course: Foundations of Philosophy.

I traced the words with my eyes, letting them sink in.

Philosophy. The love of wisdom. It sounded almost romantic in its simplicity, though I knew it would be anything but.

“Before we dive into the syllabus,” Dr. Ward continued, turning back to face the class, “I want to start with a question. A simple one, but one that’s far from easy to answer.”

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. My fingers tightened around the pencil, its cool surface grounding me.

“What does it mean to live a good life?” he asked, his voice light but deliberate, as if he knew the weight of what he’d just placed before us.

The question hung in the air, like a fragile thing we were all too afraid to touch. My gaze flickered to the desk in front of me, then back to my notebook, where my loops now resembled a face.

No one spoke at first. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was expectant, almost reverent. I felt the urge to shrink into myself, to avoid the possibility of being called on, though Dr. Ward didn’t seem the type to force participation.

Finally, someone in the front row raised their hand—the same boy who’s watching our professor intently. His voice was deep and steady, but also light and mellow as he answered, “To be happy, with or without a company, being happy is what living a good life is”

Dr. Ward nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t reply immediately. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on each of us just long enough to feel seen but not scrutinized. My pulse quickened when his eyes landed on me, but they moved on almost immediately.

Another hand shot up, this time from a girl near the windows. “I think it’s about balance. Like, making sure you’re not neglecting any part of your life—work, relationships, health. Everything needs to be in harmony.”

More nods. More silence. The question lingered, refusing to be neatly wrapped up by any single answer.

I stared at my notebook again, the loops blending into each other. What does it mean to live a good life? The question seemed too vast, too expansive to fit into the narrow confines of this room. Yet here it was, demanding to be confronted.

Dr. Ward finally broke the silence. “Interesting perspectives,” he said. “We’ll explore these ideas—and many more—as we go through this course. But here’s the thing: philosophy isn’t about finding the ‘right’ answer. It’s about learning how to ask the right questions.”

The words settled in my chest, heavier than I expected. The right questions. I glanced down at my tangled loops again and felt the faintest flicker of recognition. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need all the answers yet.

Maybe it was enough to simply begin.