I have been in college for quite some time now, and I have been successful to boot. It has been a long haul, and I am looking forward to graduating in the spring. As a double-degree student, I will receive two thick pieces of paper in the mail for which I will buy two very expensive picture frames. I will hang the picture frames in my chambers for company to guffaw at when they see what I majored in.
Diplomas might be the most anticlimactic compensatory symbol for an undertaking as enormous as college, but I suppose institutions of higher learning cannot bestow nirvana on each pupil as he or she crosses the stage.
Despite our formidable accomplishments, as an upperclassman, there is an overwhelming sense in my cohort that “learning” is not a thing we do anymore. Whenever one of my peers say, “I have a 20-page paper due tomorrow,” I cannot help but wonder whether an undergraduate student can accomplish anything of value in 20 pages that would be useful to either the student or the professor.
If you have been in academia long enough, you must know the 50 percent rule. As in, no matter how long the paper, 50 percent of it will be garbage, and that is a conservative estimate. Back when we took our educations seriously — circa three years ago as fresh-faced, freshly devirginized freshmen — the overachievers in us envisioned ourselves fixing every comma splice, thinking out every idea to its logical conclusion, reading beyond what’s required on the syllabus and evolving into avid intellectuals with employable qualities. (Be cautious readers, we’re halfway through.)
No dice. College has successfully depleted our brain cells, exhausted our bodies and drained our wallets. Coming out of high school, big workloads were a novel concept. The lengthiest paper I had ever written was eight pages long. When I got to college, it seemed I always had something to do in between kicking it with friends or trying to get away with illicit activities.
At a certain point — maybe you remember when — school became burdensome and repetitive. Every essay prompt started to look the same, presentations became a nuisance, Marxist theory started sounding dumb and Hegel’s name stopped being a good reason to cite him (seriously, professors love that guy).
College became a game you were either really good at (top of the class) or really terrible at (you know who you are). To anyone who cared enough to contemplate how much new knowledge they were gaining, school seemed almost not worth it — or at the very least, not worth the extra year we decided to spend getting the “full college experience.”
People usually quote Mark Twain saying, “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” It’s cliche by now, but that doesn’t make it untrue. The only way to learn is to claim your education. You’ll meet professors along the way who will help you, but this jaunt we call “college” is full of potholes.
Don’t idle in it.
Michael Casiano is a senior American studies and English major. He can be reached at casiano@umdbk.com.
