David Foster Wallace's 2005 Kenyon College commencement address, later published as "This Is Water: Some Thoughts on the Nature of the Default Setting," offers a potent, if somber, meditation on the human condition and the constant, often unconscious, struggle for meaning. Far from a typical motivational speech, Wallace uses a deceptively simple anecdote about fish to illuminate a profound existential challenge: breaking free from our ingrained, self-centered "default setting" to choose a more conscious, empathetic way of being. The essay argues that true freedom lies not in unbridled individualism, but in the deliberate cultivation of awareness, compassion, and attention to the often-unnoticed realities of others.
Wallace begins by establishing the central metaphor: two young fish swimming along are met by an older fish who asks, "How's the water?" They swim on, oblivious, until one eventually asks the other, "What the hell is water?" This parable immediately highlights our tendency to overlook the most obvious, fundamental aspects of our existence. For Wallace, this "water" represents the mundane, everyday experience from which we are largely unconscious. Our default setting, he explains, is the constant, unthinking preoccupation with our own needs, desires, and perspectives. It is the automatic assumption that we are at the center of the universe, and that our subjective experience is the only one that truly matters. This self-absorption, Wallace contends, is not necessarily malicious but is rather a deeply ingrained survival mechanism that, left unchecked, leads to profound unhappiness and a diminished capacity for genuine connection.
The existential dread arises when we recognize the limitations of this default setting. Wallace is not advocating for a life free of personal concerns, but rather for a conscious reorientation. He poses the question: "The most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see." These realities include the fact that everyone else around us – the cashier at the supermarket, the person cutting us off in traffic, our family members – are also living complex, conscious lives, filled with their own struggles, anxieties, and joys. Our default setting prevents us from acknowledging this shared humanity, trapping us in a solipsistic loop. The existential ripple, in this context, is the disquieting awareness that our individual experience, while valid, is but one perspective among billions, and that our self-centeredness blinds us to a richer, more interconnected reality.
Wallace proposes a solution, not through grand philosophical pronouncements, but through the mundane act of choosing where to direct our attention. He suggests that the "freedom" we often crave – the freedom to do whatever we want, whenever we want – is actually a form of constraint if it means being enslaved by our own unexamined impulses. True freedom, for Wallace, is the ability to consciously choose what to think about and how to interpret our experiences. It is the active, deliberate effort to be aware of the "water" we are swimming in, and to recognize the presence and reality of others. This involves a constant, difficult practice of empathy, of trying to understand the world from another's viewpoint, even when it is inconvenient or unpleasant. For instance, when confronted with someone's irritating behavior, instead of defaulting to anger or judgment, we can choose to consider the possibility that they might be having a terrible day, or are dealing with unseen burdens. This is not about excusing bad behavior, but about choosing a less destructive, more compassionate response.
Ultimately, "This Is Water" is an existential plea for mindfulness and empathy in the face of a world that constantly encourages self-absorption. Wallace does not offer easy answers or guaranteed happiness. Instead, he challenges his audience to embrace the difficulty of conscious living, to actively fight against the seductive ease of their default settings. The essay suggests that the most profound existential challenge is not to find meaning in the abstract, but to actively create it through our everyday choices, by recognizing the shared humanity that binds us and by choosing compassion over unconscious self-interest. It is a call to be more present, more aware, and ultimately, more human.