The Observer, February 15, 2008
Volume XL, Issue 17
A Fresh Perspective: Repeat after me: "Name. Year. Major."
We wait a long time for the moment when we finally make the transition from high school to college. It is, understandably enough, exciting. There are new opportunities, unfamiliar situations, and a host of new people to meet. But the most exciting thing, I believe, is the prospect of finally doing what you love.
Yes. Finally, after four years of grueling curricula and basic general education classes, you have the chance to pick the classes that you have an interest in and the chance to declare your major. At last, you get to find your own passions. Be who you want to be.
It is a great feeling, this sense of liberty, and so we don't mind when we are forced to stand the first day of orientation and repeat: "Name. Year. Major." It is still fun to share this. It helps us meet people with our own interests, it breaks the ice, and it gives us something universal and accepted to share with our new classmates and peers.
And then we are forced to stand up in nearly every class and share these things. They are the first three things to write on any form. Slowly we grow sick of defining ourselves in these terms, but there is no tactful way to not do this. It is simply what is done, as frustrating as it may be. These superficial responses tend to bring about superficial discussions: "Oh, you're an English major? You must like to read." Yes. Yes I do.
Then, without our permission, we are caught up in it and we begin to fall into the easy stereotypes. We are defined not by our dreams and our goals, but by our course of study. The computer science major plays World of Warcraft 24/7. The engineering major can fix anything. The political science major spends her life reading. The English major has it easy.
Never one to discount myself, I found myself doing this quite often. When a math problem blindsided me in class, I shrugged comically and threw out a casual, "Well. I am an English major." Peers murmured in agreement, and the problem was forgotten about. I was left, however, just wanting to tell them that I've taken calculus before! Wait! I have! I don't only read and write! I'm not shallow, not stupid. I'm at Case for a reason, just like every single other student.
It had gotten to the point that I didn't even share my major. I had let myself believe what everyone was telling me, as bitter as I was about it: English was inferior to the scientific studies that had given Case its name. It didn't matter how long I spent writing essays, reading great works, or researching law school. Whenever I was asked about it, I would cringe and quickly defend myself, saying, "Well. English. I know it's out in left field, but…"
Classifying yourself by these terms shouldn't be so frustrating, because you are more than what you study. You are more than your major, just like you are more than your appearance, your clothes, your car, or your money. They are tiny facets of who you are, but they really do not encompass your whole self. These things do not define you, like your major does not define you.
But we should not be so afraid that those around us will not see us for who we really are that we cannot stand up and say "Name. Year. Major." The people who judge us are not worthy of the time spent judging them in return. Those that matter will know that it is so much more than words, and will love us anyway.
