Senior Year Post #2

I remember my first year on the swim team, brand new to the college experience in the fall of 2011. I was walking out of the Sports Center with one of the captains, and she was scanning through emails on her phone, laughing about how many were questions from my fellow first-year try-outs. I asked some innocent follow-up question, I don’t remember what it was (I’m sure it was very earnest), but I can see clearly how she turned and looked at me. “I forget how young you guys are,” Steph told me, matter-of-factly. “How old are you, 18? Four years is a lot, hun.”

And now, on the other end of that conversation, I can say that in so many ways it is. I’ve been told a few times I don’t look like a senior, and while I’m not sure how to physically make myself resemble one more (I’ve pondered it, but no solutions yet), I certainly feel like one. Like first year, it’s an isolated class year.

Seniors mainly hang out with each other. The main reason is topics of conversation—how many sophomores want to talk about scholarships we’re mutually applying for, want to hear endless conversation on how medical or grad school applications are going, how thesis work is coming along, how so-and-so is doing or what’s happening with this professor. I’ve had a few conversations with groups combining both sophomores and seniors recently, and felt bad every time I’ve done it. Because the sophomores just have to sit there silently. They don’t have the context to join in: my friends all know my other friends, at the minimum by face/name/major, we all know most of the professors, and we’re familiar with each others’ histories. I can’t include them because there are dominant threads we talk about when we’re in a group. Explaining things takes longer, because there’s less shared structure. When I’m asked about my thesis, I have to explain that I’m a neuroscience major, that I work with Prof. Conway, the difference between physiology and perception, what an action potential is.

These types of conversations have become the baseline I use to interact with people, but in a sense I’m seeing it backward from when I first came to college. I just came back from a two-week vacation in San Jose with my family, and every time I go home (wherever the family is :)), the more I appreciate and love the differences.

“So, I’m in this class called 9.66, which is a combined undergraduate and—” was as far as I got when my dad asked me about my classwork this semester.

“Yes, I know, I read your blog,” he cut in, and my brain did a little fire-alarm/run around in circles/reset thing.

“Oh yeah,” I said, still resetting. “Well, then—”

It happened with my sisters, too.

“And then I’d take—”

“—it, and grab the other one and eat them all in one sitting, and when we complained you’d tell us we left them out for two whole days.”

I stared at Leslie. “…How do you know that?”

She grinned. “You’re actually very predictable, Monica.”

And that easiness, that familiarity, that immediate acceptance, understanding, being home—that’s the discrepancy that I think defines college. Because for me, the hardest learning I had to do was not the academics or making friends. Not that that was those weren’t hard, because they definitely were/are, but if I work hard enough, pour enough time into it, it will all work out in the end. No, the hardest learning I’ve done in college was about people, and implicit structure. That implicit structure that’s missing when you’re a sophomore, when you’re not able to fathom the advice a senior would find useful. That void in understanding as a first-year about how to apply your ambition. Making mistakes like asking a professor what’s an easy class instead of asking your friends. Taking what papers say for granted instead of knowing how to analyze them critically. Sending out a professional email that comes off as presumptuous. All of this implicit structure, the understanding of the local relationships within the people in your environment, a general understanding of how to get from point A to point B efficiently, knowing when to question and when to accept. The opposite side of which is naiveté, all good intention channeled incorrectly because you didn’t know.

In college you are expected to represent yourself. Your family is not going to guide you to those internships, send out those emails, thank the people in your life appropriately. The people you meet will not be able to predict your actions; they will expect things of you, and you will have to perform with your best knowledge of how the world works. You need to know who is important and treat them with respect. You need to be aware of how to write emails to everyone, since that’s going to be your primary means of reaching out. You need to know who to ask for help and how best to approach them. And for every bit you understand correctly, for every correct interpretation of how the world is structured, you can gain more from each new example, and the next steps are a little less of a void.

I know almost nothing about the scientific or general structure of the world. I’ve only been at it for three years. But every time I get it right, every time I can use my background knowledge to intuit something new—it’s such a pleasure, makes me so pleased to have acquired it during my time here. Knowing to look up someone’s qualifications before you email them, knowing how to request with diffidence. Knowing that someone always asks personal questions for a reason, so taking the time to think about what’s motivating them before you answer. Noticing pronouns and small slides of sexism, being aware of words when you’re reading. Knowing what classes can reasonably be accomplished and what order, knowing what goals are realistic.

Since as far back as middle school, I’m used to making one huge mistake every six months. They all have been well intentioned. Lack of implicit knowledge, always, stuff like thinking staring at people is okay, like not realizing science is made up of people, that there are hierarchies and collaborators. The consequences get worse as you get older, reflect on your future more. I’m overdue for one, actually. It’s been over a year since my last major mistake.

I’m a naïve twenty-one-year old, and I know I’ll look back on many things this year and wince. But if there’s anything that defines why I feel like a senior, why I feel prepared for whatever crops up in the near future, it’s the hard-won learning of some of that implicit structure. Because four years is a long time, and though I’ve got a very long way to go, I’ve also come a long way :).

 

 

Ps, hello readers!

I realize I was too busy rhapsodizing to explain where I am/have been doing for the past few weeks! I had an amazing time over break, where I met up with my cousins and family in San Jose. We hiked a lot, ate a lot, watched many, many movies (X-Men, anyone?) and I had such a good time seeing my sisters and cousins. I always forget how much family just fits.

Now, though, I’m back at Wellesley and will be here for another two weeks until school starts on the 26^th. This is Wintersession, the January term, and there are not too many of us around. The few groups that are here are Albright scholars, athletes, thesis and some research students, students taking classes, international students, and some students who are working. I’m a thesising student, which means I’m attempting to do an experiment and then actually write the document. A few days ago I opened up a word doc and wrote “Thesis” in it, which tells you exactly how far along I am. But I’ve been having a great time here too, because it’s spectacular to get some work done, and I’ve been hanging out with a lot of my science and swimming friends. I cannot believe I only have a semester left before we all go our separate ways.

I’ll be back to blogging now, after three whole weeks off. This year marks a lot of firsts for me!

Hope you all had happy holidays :).

Monica