"A formal education can sometimes be broadening, but more often it merely flattens." - Edward Abbey (1927-1989)
Getting to The Farm
I never really thought much about the question of college. I assumed I'd go somewhere, and where in particular was not really worth worrying about. I didn't even begin to think about college until the end of 11th grade. When I did, the answer seemed obvious. Stanford. Both my parents went there, as did two of my uncles. I'd been visiting the campus since the beginning, our mailing address having been P.O. Box 452*, Stanford CA 94309 since long before I was born. On weekends we used to come often to pick up the mail and walk around the campus. I learned how to ride a bike, not in the back-hills of Half Moon Bay, but the green fields of Roble Field at Stanford. In many ways, I knew Stanford better than any place besides my home town. I liked the campus. I liked the location. Everyone said Stanford was a great school, even President Clinton. Assuming I could get in, Stanford was where I wanted to end up.
The first time I did anything really college oriented was the summer after my junior year. Sure, I'd taken SATs, just like everyone else, but I'd taken them more from the fact that everyone else was, than that I really wanted to improve my chances to attend a particular college. That summer, I came to Stanford summer school. There was even an application process for their program for High School students, a shadow of things to come. I was what they called a "commuter" student, attending classes in the day, going home at night.
It was definitely an experience. But not only in a positive sense. I enjoyed the academics, but I discovered early on that my math class was quite a bit more complete and difficult than anything I'd hitherto taken. Community college classes just aren't the same. Because I was a commuter student, I had no real occasion to meet people, and no real impetus. I didn't make a single friend that summer, and I doubt if I even made any acquaintances. College looked by and large to be a lot of grey drudgery. When my girlfriend broke up with me in mid-August, I nearly had an emotional breakdown. The experience was certainly mixed. Nonetheless, I did perform well despite the pressure, learned a number of useful lessons, and began my introduction to Stanford academics. It was an expensive method of doing so (more than 4 grant), but it was certainly a good intro.
My senior year of high school was devoted to two goals, and only two: do well enough to get into college, and continue doing well, so I would graduate. I took a lot of SATs that fall, with good results. Also, having run out of math classes at my high school, I essentially audited a class at Stanford, necessitating a 50 mile drive every day. I enjoyed the class a lot, but it was definitely challenging, and although I wasn't officially even in the class, I was doing the work for a grade at my high school. It was tough.
Applications began in October. I actually did look into a fair number of schools, but my conclusion remained the same. I wanted a balance between a technical and a liberal arts education, and Stanford seemed the best fit. I considered MIT and Caltech because I knew they were extraordinary engineering schools, and UC Berkeley and UCLA as my cheaper alternatives, but Stanford remained my first choice by a very large margin. "Why," I asked myself, "should I travel to some distant spot, when the best is sitting practically on my doorstep?" Convinced, I applied early decision so as to boost my chances of admission (~18% early admission rate, vs. 9% for regular admissions). I wanted in.
November and December passed anxiously for me, as I filled out applications for other schools, took a final round of SATs, and tried to survive what I considered the worst year of school yet. When, on January 20, only a few days from my 18th birthday, I received a folder in the mail from Stanford, I was to put it mildly excited. Success!
The honeymoon, as such, lasted about 3 weeks. Then realities began to set in. The first reality was cost. I think the correct term for my feelings was buyer's remorse. Sure I was going to one of the best colleges around, but at a cost of $40,000 a year? Was UC Berkeley that much worse that a $30,000 smaller pricetag wouldn't offset the difference? It is still a thought which I have now and again. $40,000 is a lot of a money. The second problem, college angst, began as well. I didn't know what to expect, and I had a general uneasiness. What if it turned out like the previous summer? Could I survive that. That question too has not died.
The year progressed, life moved on, and summer soon came. For a summary of events, refer to my diaries, they have it all. I spent the summer taking classes at community college, and being around friends. I'd really become a lot more social over the previous year, and friends were a very important thing for me. Three of my best friends are now more than 500 miles away. It was with no little reluctance that I arrived around 8AM, on August 18, to move into my new home for the next year.
At the outset things were very good. Everyone was nice to everyone, and very open. I believe that I had some of my best conversations during those first 3 days. My roommate, I discovered, was quite a nice guy, and a great deal like me. Things almost seemed like a paradise. Except that I missed my old friends.
My initial reaction was that I'd make new friends, and so I didn't worry much. But as time has gone on, I find that justification harder. I haven't made many friends, and the number of people I actually feel close to here is ... err ... 0. The people are all for the most part nice, but we don't share a common past, or many common interests or beliefs, and so new friends really are hard to make, and harder to keep. I don't know.
I found myself one of two occupants of 112, Junipero House, Wilbur Hall, Stanford. I am one of 87 Juniperans, and live on the ground floor (the all-male floor). We have 3 floors, one lounge, and communal bathrooms/showers on each floor. About half the people here are from California. I have one computer, one stereo, one phone, one cell-phone, one 36-inch penguin, too many textbooks, too little time, and too much to do. That is how I find myself.
Orientation week was a blur, and classes started 6 days after we got here. I basically spent my first week of classes trying to finalize a schedule. I finalized on IHUM, Math 51, Physics 51, Farsi and Flute, but eventually discovered Physics was too much for me. All my grand plans of taking challenging classes were dashed by the reality that I really am not smart enough to take them lightly, and often not smart enough to take them at all. I learned soon enough that here, as elsewhere, there are good professors and bad professors. I learned too that college affords so many possible distractions that getting work done is very difficult, but at the same time, when one is bored, or depressed, the distractions aren't even good enough for that (distracting one).
What has made college so difficult is not that it is bad. It is really no worse than high school (save the missing friends). But having set it on a pedestal for so long, the reality is not what I expected. I had set it, in my mind, as a sort of panacea. This it is not. Perhaps in a way, my unrealistic expectations were spurred on by the constant protestations of all that the college years, "are the best years of your life." All I can say in hindsight is I sure hope not. The semi-Utopian vision of being a member of a large yet tight-knit community of friendly, open, like-minded individuals is fine as a vision, but it is not borne out in reality. This is not the place where I can finally rid myself of my doubts and social angst. They are alive and well. I am neither in a temple of learning, nor one of human solidarity. While different, college is a definite reflection of the real world. Things are not perfect. Things may not even be better.
I don't want to sound wholly negative about the experience, but it is often difficult to avoid. The tradeoffs, once so easy, now seem almost unimaginable. Were I to live my life again, I can't say for certain where I'd go, or what I'd do, but I do know that I'd have been a lot more careful with my decisions, especially this one. There are times, when feeling like a $40,000 a year failure seems impossible to cope with. I admit freely that I miss my friends and family, and that I have but little hope for the future. No class here has truly stirred anything within me, no idea has been noble enough to rip me away from my brooding. I work alone, for I cannot easily concentrate with others around. I avoid people, for seeing others only serves to remind me of my loneliness. It is not difficult for me to deal with being alone. But to know that one is alone in the midst of thousands, that is difficult.
If I have hope for the future, it lies in this. It lies in the fact that I am now, in theory, an adult who can make his own decisions. The path I follow is chosen by me, and me alone. If this fails, if this path leads me to a rut, I can, and will, change it. I will find a path in the world which does work. My ultimate solace lies in this: if, by some mischance, the entire world abandons me, then I can just as easily abandon the world, and with a clear conscience. I can go to live and die among the mountains, where I shall be free of men, and men shall be free of me. The worst of all possibilities is not really so bad after all. In the meantime, I shall continue to hope. Perhaps... Perhaps, somehow, things will turn out. Who knows? I might even end up having a little fun.
Post Scriptum: This was initially intended as a description of my college experience. It is that, to some degree. But it is also my effort to really express my true feelings. Perhaps it is unwise to express oneself so clearly and publicly. Perhaps not. But I am not god, and I have no answers. No doubt I have said many things I should have left unsaid, and vice-versa, but I will not apologize. There comes a time when one must do what is right.
