A Vieux from the Trees: Participation Points

“Can you believe we’re about to be done with college?”

When you’re a senior like I am, people ask this a lot, and actually... Yeah, I can. Though I’ve loved many parts of college, much of my day-to-day experience on campus has felt like one of those dreams in which I’m falling endlessly, wind rushing past my ears, but I never hit the ground. In many ways, I’ve changed and grown in college, but there are also ways that college has felt recursive: dreary raining schooldays that all blend together, recurring physical injuries and depression symptoms, feeling overwhelmed by schoolwork after thinking that I’d matured and grown last term to a place where self-frustration would have abated more, and the more abrasive parts of communal living—I mind the occasional cockroach far less than I mind having to eat dinner in a room packed with 300 people I may or may not know and/or feel ready to talk to, especially when feeling depressed or anxious.

Regardless of the tonal variety of the small memories I’ve accrued on-campus, I can’t say I regret any major decision I’ve made in college—the bottoms of hills on which I started have all led me to climb to better places. Let’s talk about it.

Over my four years as an undergrad, I, Ann Christina Harvieux, have consistently written for:

Psyyyyych! I, Annie, FM columnist and waffle-eater extraordinaire, have not consistently written for any single publication throughout my undergrad career. I didn’t join The Crimson until late freshman year, and I’ve taken several hiatuses for various reasons related to my personal health. I was frightened out of the Lampoon and Advocate comps twice and decided not to go back, though there are individual writers I know and respect on each. I have never received research funding for a project. I have never taken an extra class on an impulse—I’m typically drowning in the average four. I have never travelled to another country besides Canada, on or off Harvard’s dime. I’m not part of a selective social organization. I’m not part of a music group. I am the only English major who has never been a part of student theatre. (Yes, I fact-checked this.)

What am I doing?! I’m in college! I’m in the land of milk and honey, surrounded by innumerable opportunities being tantalizingly wafted under my nose via fliers or posters or daily waves of emails or friends in the dining hall saying, “You HAVE to try this!” See the world! Cure rare diseases! Spread literacy! Have your own radio show! Learn to Bollywood dance! What I’m more likely to be found doing, though, is lying on the couch in my suite’s common room, Winthrop fourth floor, feeling woefully incapable of juggling the tiny-looking handful of tasks I’ve taken on, and speculating on whether or not I could ever possibly be enough to do something of value, at least until one of my roommates comes home to distract me.

Last summer, I was the happiest I’ve been in college—I took a publishing internship in my home state of Minnesota. I loved showing up every day and being part of a team engaged in a meaningful concrete task (putting out books), diving into each task I was assigned, and putting in effort to be fastidious, caring, and innovative about the details of a project, a stark contrast to the ambiguous achievement standards that I feel bound to at school. Every day, I was able to show up at work, eager and ready to learn. (On extra-depressed days, this meant showing up very caffeinated and being sure to swipe a good-looking book to take home.) I knew I’d made the right choice by following my love of words every time I opened one of the unpublished manuscripts on which I got to do reports, fact-checks, or grammatical edits.

My desk job changed the way I see my own learning and intelligence, for the better—how often do you hear that? If I evaluate my college experience based on how often I was engaged, flexible, and eager-to-learn, I'm proud to tell you that I’m graduating with a satisfying assortment of new abilities, work strategies, and coping mechanisms—who cares if I made it into that elite club? By dabbling in a handful of publications, I’ve tested my voice in (and learned the conventions of) several types of writing. I’m a better communicator and listener than I was freshman year, and I have many new friends to show for it. My work ethic is now a force to be reckoned with: I can get a lot done when I need to. I’ve taken initiative to seek treatment for my physical and mental health problems, returned to situations and interactions that have terrified me to try to set things right, stood up for myself to peers and teachers, and also absolutely bowed to people who I know are right when I’ve been wrong. I’m better at thinking critically. I’m better at making something substantial in the salad bar when the hot options don't appeal . I’ve also failed at a lot of things, from poorly handled interpersonal interactions to bombed pop quizzes. Learning how to self-correct from failure rather than giving in to hours of self-anger or panic has helped me more than anything I’ve done right the first time.

I can believe I’m about to be done with college, and it feels good. Twenty-one-year-old Annie is excited for the workforce, whereas 18-year-old Annie was pretty scared to leave her little lakeside town. So, yeah, I’ve grown. Have other people grown “more,” or differently, or in ways that I desired somewhere along the way? Yep, they most definitely have. However, I believe that I’ve done my best to get what I can out of my education given my personal abilities, previous life experiences, and physical and mental conditions. I truly believe I’ve taken opportunities in college to put my time, abilities, resources, and yes, my tuition money, where my mouth is, and where my values are. I’ve showed up ready to engage and learn and grow. I think I’ve earned my participation points, and I bet if you stop to think about it, you’ll decide that you have, too.