The Whitworthian

Issue date: 10/9/07 Last Updated: 10/12/07

The very moment you and I were wrenched from the womb, the doctor handed us a TI-93, a five-volume Norton Anthology of American Literature and a compilation of every political theory since the beginning of time.

“Welcome to life,” he mumbled, “I expect five pages by tomorrow on ‘what it means to be born.’ Please include a full description of your epistemology and a four-year plan for becoming a productive member of your preschool.”

I, of course, aced that paper and was placed in the room with the babies crying about existentialism.

But now, 20 years later, I find myself wishing I could just crawl back into the womb, set my alarm for age 30 and catch up on some much-needed sleep.

You know what I’m talking about. When you were still writing that paper at 3 this morning, you too were wondering when, if ever, you would sleep again. And there is something fundamentally wrong with that.

It is not possible, under the constraints of time and space, for you or me to a) go to class, b) do homework, c) work part-time, d) have fulfilling relationships, e) eat, f) sleep, g) shower and h) breathe. At least three of the above must be sacrificed if I am going to keep my scholarship, and it is certainly not going to be a, b or c. I might keep breathing. If I have time.

I must confess that I love college. I love going to class and stretching my mind. But unfortunately, neither you nor I can learn or grow or stretch our minds when we are sleep-deprived, caffeine-injected, starved and alone. That is not education. That is masochism.
           
And I have been a masochist for far too long. I am ashamed to say that I took the ACT for the first time in the eighth grade, and then took it four or five more times to see how close to perfect I could get. In junior high, I cried when I got Bs. I was an officer in every club my high school chartered. Except for 4-H. Those kids were weird.

But after years of self-torture, I have learned the mantra to happiness. Repeat after me. “Grades do not matter. This society’s ideals for success do not matter. I have very little time on this planet. I will not waste it by chasing an unattainable model of perfection. It is not worth sacrificing my personal relationships, my personal health, or my personal hygiene for the sake of a few insignificant numbers.”

Now crawl into your warm bed and dream beautiful dreams of a world that values generosity and selflessness above an SAT score, courage and creativity above a GPA. When you wake up, you can get your degree, and emerge into society to make it that magical place of your imagination.

When you’re done with that, I hope to see a 25-page summary of what you learned, in MLA format. Bibliography included.

Rebecca Snape is a junior majoring in English and peace studies. Contact her at rebecca.snape@whitworthian.com.

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