Last summer, in my penultimate semester, I got a D in one of my classes. Maybe it was academic burnout; maybe I wasn’t vibing with the professor; or maybe I simply took one too many shortcuts. Either way, it sent my mental health into a tailspin, which gave me ample time to lie in bed and reflect on my time as a student at UFV. Although I’m grateful to have found a major that I’ve mostly been able to thrive in, my academic record is far from unblemished. In my time at university I’ve had front-row seats to the entire emotional spectrum of the student experience: the good, the bad, and especially the ugly. If you’re currently reading this to distract yourself from the existential dread sinking its claws ever deeper into your psyche with every minute that your assignment goes unfinished — this article is for you.
We never really talk about how ridiculously ugly these bouts of academic depression can get. Sure, maybe we crack a joke about how tired we are to our classmates to clear an awkward silence. What we don’t tell each other, is how we stayed up until 3:00 a.m. the night before, begging God to guide our hand, so that we might find the strength to respond to a classmate’s post on Blackboard. Especially in the winter months, I find myself rendered completely useless past 5:00 p.m. as the suffocating darkness fills my mind with deep philosophical musings: Why am I writing this essay again? Why is it so impossible for me to shit out 500 words? Fuck this, I’m getting drunk tonight.
Yes, if you’re a coal miner, I imagine that all sounds like a nice first-world problem to have. I’m well aware that I’m a Liberal Arts cupcake with soft hands and in a very privileged position, but that only adds to the compounding guilt. Why can’t I shape up and work harder, knowing that there are so many people who would be much better students if they were in my place? After all, being a university student doesn’t mean you’re more intelligent or special than anyone else — only that you have the ability to pay for the privilege of being on campus. And that privilege is fucking expensive. Every second I’m on campus I feel as if I’m bleeding money. And to what end? Will all this valuable experience add up to a job? Or will I end up hopelessly adrift in the world after learning that the goalposts have moved since I started school; that my degree simply won’t cut it anymore? Will knowing The Chicago Manual of Style (17th Edition) make me a more efficient Starbucks barista?
Whoops, that got a little depressing. My intention isn’t to bum anyone out, but if anyone reading this has experienced those same doubts, I don’t blame you one bit. We tend to absorb pressure from a lot of different people and places when we undertake a goal like obtaining a degree, or getting our dream job. We carry that weight with us wherever we go, and sometimes the pressure to be perfect is crushing. Sometimes we can cope easily and sometimes we can’t. If you’ve ever been on academic probation, received an unflattering grade, or failed a class (twice) — you’re not alone. I’ve been there, and I want you to know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Acknowledging that you’re not a perfect student might be the kick in the ass you need to change your major and try something new. It certainly was for me.
While I can’t tell you the precise benefits of a university degree in this modern age of economic flux (although I’ll soon find out for myself), I can tell you about all the good that university has done for me. The most valuable experiences I’ve had at UFV wouldn’t look good on a resumé, but they’ve been crucial parts of my academic journey nonetheless: sneaking alcohol into Baker House, directing a (crappy) student film, experiencing heartbreak and happiness all within a single semester, etc. I’ve bullshitted my way through assignments and received a perfect grade. I’ve also poured my heart and soul into assignments and failed. Most recently, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting all the amazing people at The Cascade, who have given me the opportunity to ramble in a public forum without a license.
Most valuably, my ego has shrunk since I first arrived on campus. If you graduate university without an appreciation for just how little you know about life — you did it wrong. For those of you finishing off your very first semester this December, I say this: Be vulnerable. Embarrass yourself. Try new things. Do your best, but don’t be too hard on yourself when you fail. Measure your time in experiences, rather than obsessively counting credits. In the immortal words of Indiana Jones: “it’s not the years… it’s the mileage.”
Matthew Iddon was born at an exceptionally young age. He aspires to one day become old. He currently resides.
