I am sitting in my second to last college class this quarter. I teach an Interdisciplinary Writing Link for the English dept and my link is with Asian American Studies. Since my students are taking both courses, I come to the AAS class to find out what they are learning. The professor is a great speaker; he tells jokes and tries to engage his audience of 175 by asking questions. He knows how to pitch his voice to emphasize the important points in his lecture. And I can tell that sometimes, he enjoys teaching. I (sadly) never took the course in college because I was too busy failing Chemistry (why I ever thought I could take on the medical world, I'll never know - some screwed up form of idealism perhaps). I also never took Art History, Sociology, Anthropology or Political Science. I was definitely not well-rounded when I left UCLA. Now, as I finish my PhD this year, I keep thinking about how much more I wish I had learned.
The first day of classes (college or otherwise) were always my favorite. I would buy fresh notebooks and stock my backpack with sharpened pencils, sweet smelling erasers and sexy pens (and the perfect outfit of course). I would sit in the third of fourth row, crack the notebook open and slowly sketch the name of the course, B-i-o-l-o-g-y 103. Prof. Campbell. Spring 2000. And then I would wait, with my knees slightly shaking, for the learning to begin. Would this professor be a fair grader? Would I be able to keep up with the reading? Would I be bored? While the first two questions had multiple answers, the third was almost always a no, usually (Prof. Stuart's Literary Theory course was so uncontrollably boring that my friend and I would spend more time guessing which color sweater he would wear instead of paying attention to his lectures. He had nine of the same sweater, all in various shades of pastel. We went to class to see who won the bet). The over-achieving geek in me loved, truly lovely, school. Some subjects obviously came more easily than others, but I relished the thought of finding out something completely new. I liked being taken into an area of the world that was foreign to me.
I will miss sitting in lectures, breaking in new notebooks, roaming corridors of frenzied students, organizing notes with multi-colored pens, and hosting late night study sessions when I leave academia this year. I've spent the better part of my twenties in school and I have no regrets. When I see my relatives during the holidays, they continually ask, "when are you done?" (Note: I've rephrased the question to sound less judgmental here) Most of the time, I tell them, "this year for sure - you're coming to graduation right?" And while it is no secret that I am genuinely ready to be done with this program, sometimes the real answer is: never, I hope. I like being a student. After being in grad school for so long, I sometimes think that the only people who really understand me are my grad school friends. Only they know what it is like to be reaching the highest level of education and still feel completely inadequate in many ways. They can vouch for the unwavering fear one feels when approaching PhD exams. Only they know what it means to put seven years into something because you love it, even if no job exists for you on the other end. It seems clear to me that many of my non-academic friends and family members find me to be an oddball for doing a PhD in Literature (because, really, what can I do with that?). But being a perpetual student has taught me more about myself than anything else. And for that, I am unconscionably thankful. I know that I can always (and probably will) take courses in the future, but nothing will compare to my years of being a student. So, I'll go to Prof. Jung's AAS lecture as much as I can, because I can. And then, I'll gladly put on the hood.
The first day of classes (college or otherwise) were always my favorite. I would buy fresh notebooks and stock my backpack with sharpened pencils, sweet smelling erasers and sexy pens (and the perfect outfit of course). I would sit in the third of fourth row, crack the notebook open and slowly sketch the name of the course, B-i-o-l-o-g-y 103. Prof. Campbell. Spring 2000. And then I would wait, with my knees slightly shaking, for the learning to begin. Would this professor be a fair grader? Would I be able to keep up with the reading? Would I be bored? While the first two questions had multiple answers, the third was almost always a no, usually (Prof. Stuart's Literary Theory course was so uncontrollably boring that my friend and I would spend more time guessing which color sweater he would wear instead of paying attention to his lectures. He had nine of the same sweater, all in various shades of pastel. We went to class to see who won the bet). The over-achieving geek in me loved, truly lovely, school. Some subjects obviously came more easily than others, but I relished the thought of finding out something completely new. I liked being taken into an area of the world that was foreign to me. 
I will miss sitting in lectures, breaking in new notebooks, roaming corridors of frenzied students, organizing notes with multi-colored pens, and hosting late night study sessions when I leave academia this year. I've spent the better part of my twenties in school and I have no regrets. When I see my relatives during the holidays, they continually ask, "when are you done?" (Note: I've rephrased the question to sound less judgmental here) Most of the time, I tell them, "this year for sure - you're coming to graduation right?" And while it is no secret that I am genuinely ready to be done with this program, sometimes the real answer is: never, I hope. I like being a student. After being in grad school for so long, I sometimes think that the only people who really understand me are my grad school friends. Only they know what it is like to be reaching the highest level of education and still feel completely inadequate in many ways. They can vouch for the unwavering fear one feels when approaching PhD exams. Only they know what it means to put seven years into something because you love it, even if no job exists for you on the other end. It seems clear to me that many of my non-academic friends and family members find me to be an oddball for doing a PhD in Literature (because, really, what can I do with that?). But being a perpetual student has taught me more about myself than anything else. And for that, I am unconscionably thankful. I know that I can always (and probably will) take courses in the future, but nothing will compare to my years of being a student. So, I'll go to Prof. Jung's AAS lecture as much as I can, because I can. And then, I'll gladly put on the hood.
Can't wait for you to have that hood! :)
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