The last time I had an extended visit to UChicago’s campus was when I attended my class’s 10th reunion. In addition to the engaging Alumni Weekend programming, it was wonderful to catch up with old friends and reminisce about our college days. I will admit, though, that after hearing my classmates’ stories of goals accomplished and accolades earned over those 10 years, I couldn’t help feeling a little insecure. Everyone just seemed so … impressive. I had a great weekend, but ever since leaving campus, I’ve had this nagging thought: Did I miss the aims of education?

We all remember huddling in Rockefeller Chapel during O-Week for the Aims of Education Address, which is intended to provoke thoughtful conversation about the goals of a liberal arts education. One can hardly imagine a more fitting start to the first quarter at the University of Chicago. As a bright-eyed undergraduate, I was enraptured by the tradition. The solemn nature of a high-minded lecture coupled with the grandeur of the chapel bustling with my classmates made for a powerful beginning to my collegiate career.

What I took from that address was that education was about learning critical thinking skills, exploring a broad range of disciplines, and sparking a lifelong sense of curiosity and inquiry. It was about grappling with seminal texts that archive the human experience and carrying with me whatever lessons I could learn from them. That night in Rockefeller Chapel, I decided that for me, the aims of education were wide but simple: Learn to live a good life. Convinced of this belief, I started my studies.

I was a moderately successful student. My academic record was above average, but my coursework was easier than some of my classmates’. My senior thesis was a solid attempt at scholarship, albeit certainly not publishable. But I did learn how to read and write effectively.

I made modest contributions to two student organizations over the course of four years. I wasn’t the president of either, but I did hold leadership positions. I didn’t reinvigorate the undergraduate population with my oration or lead a student movement, but I did learn how to work with my peers to accomplish a common goal.

Like many of my classmates, I plugged myself into the available career resources, hoping to land a position with one of the several top-tier firms that recruited from the College. I performed poorly in case interviews, and none of the firms moved me forward in their process. But the interview skills I learned did help me get a job at a successful insurance brokerage company after graduation.

Despite steady employment, my professional career has been wholly unremarkable. I’ve always had a low-stress office job, rarely ever clocking more than 40 hours a week. I’m not an executive or even a manager. But I know how to speak to clients and deliver work on time.

When I’m not working my day job, I work as a sports official for high schools and colleges close to home. My fellow officials and I enjoy a rare camaraderie, especially when we’re watching highlights on the local news, hoping to catch a glimpse of ourselves. That said, local news is a far cry from a nationally televised contest. Nevertheless, I have mentored younger officials on how to handle a “big game.”

My wife, four children, and I live in our Midwestern hometown. It’s a midsize city you’ve probably never heard of. We aren’t connected to an elite network of local professionals, nor are we hosting cocktail parties at a country club. But we have good relationships with all of our neighbors, and our kids have a well-established network of friends and cousins.

We take a laissez-faire attitude toward our kids’ activities, usually signing them up based on the weather that season (it must be at least 65 degrees), time commitment (I like my Saturday mornings to myself), and enrollment cost (the lower the better). The number one criterion: Are the kids having fun? Even when they show flashes of aptitude, I am not calling sought-after professionals to coach them into prodigies. But I do make it a priority to encourage my two older daughters in the interests we share: nature and coloring.

When my wife and I aren’t shuttling kids to weekend activities, we trade off supervising them so we can each attend services at our parish. We’ve been members there for nearly 10 years—longer than any of the pastors. We certainly aren’t leading a revival. But we do meet with engaged couples several times a year to help them prepare for successful marriages.

As you can see, my interests are as varied as the Core curriculum. I read books and watch movies with a critical eye; I occasionally play my guitar and (less occasionally) sing in my garage; I work with a tutor to study Japanese; I love sports but also lectures on cosmology; I enjoy a fine cocktail as much as a light beer. I’ve brought a fair amount of the human experience within my scope.

Books, movies, music, and booze: My life is perfectly ordinary. And I am happily content with my life exactly how it is, because even though it is ordinary, my life is good.

The education I received equipped me to build this good life. And that education pervades every aspect of my life. Without it I would not have been able to discern what I value and, more importantly, what I don’t. I would not have developed the mental acuity to think critically about the world around me. I would not have fostered the sense of curiosity that has driven me to pursue such varied interests. I would not have the deeply cherished relationships I am blessed to have.

My education didn’t launch me into high society, but I didn’t want or expect it to. I don’t have a scrappy start-up in my garage. I’m not writing the next great American novel. I don’t want to be rich, and I certainly don’t want to be famous.

I harness my liberal arts education every day to live a good life, to counsel my friends on how to build their own, or, most recently, to help my eight-year-old discern between the competing merits of an inflatable pool and a slip and slide. She likes the slip and slide.

Now that some time has passed since my reunion, and after composing this reflection, my sense of insecurity has subsided. Comparison is the thief of joy—whether it’s with my fellow alumni or with another (nonexistent, mind you) version of myself. I wanted an education to understand a little deeper, to think a little clearer, and to listen a little better. So I am confident in this answer: No, I didn’t miss the aims of education. I learned how to build a good life, and I am currently living it.

Xavier Serrani, AB’14, lives with his family in Indiana.