First year of college: check.
Finally, I’m finished with what seemed like my most mammoth undertaking to date when I moved into my drafty dorm room this past fall.
I came to school ‘undecided.’ I had the thrilling pleasure of repeating that title ad nauseum near the beginning when the first and often only thing you were asked was “What’s your major?” I felt more uncomfortable each time I had to answer that I, in fact, did not yet have one.
‘Yeah, you know that quick and easy glimpse into my personality you thought you’d get by finding out what I want to do with my life? You can’t have it. Because quite frankly, I don’t know the answer to that question yet. If you have any ideas, please let me know.”
After taking the most ridiculous combination of classes ever conceived through my first two semesters, I finally settled on what looks like it might be my niche—for now at least.
English (Writing) major with a double-minor in Theatre and Women’s Studies.
Or as my friend Austin likes to say: “a major in starving arts with a double-minor in starving arts.”
I thought declaring my major/minors would bring a sense of relief. Finally! I would be able to answer that stupid question. Oddly enough, I’ve noticed that my embarrassment has sort of clung around. I feel like people will judge me, like I’m wasting my money getting a degree that is widely perceived as useless.
As far as English goes, whenever I start to feel self-conscious, I just remind myself that it will never ever hurt to be a good writer. Especially if I decide to become a writer.
A while back, I had a conversation with someone (I honestly can’t even remember who it was) and they asked me what my major was, so I dutifully recited: English (writing) major with a double-minor in Theatre and Women’s Studies. With an alarming amount of disgust they responded, “Women’s Studies?! What are you going to do with that!?”
My reply: “Whatever I possibly can.”
I have a joke with a friend of mine that college is about learning that you’re f**ked and that there’s nothing you can do about it. In my feminist philosophy class I often felt that way. Those feelings usually manifested themselves as frustrated, rambling posts on this blog. There are a lot of BIG issues I examined this year (feminist and otherwise) that we can’t just vote or protest our way out of. And that is scary.
There is a LOT of power in education, though. I think I get fired up about pretty much anything a passionate professor teaches me. I trust my professors to give me that little push in the right direction towards a clear and progressive and proactive way of thinking.
Sometimes, they let me down.
About a month ago, one of my classes took a canoe trip. The professor was talking about the rowing situation and made a really sexist comment, implying that the women on the class wouldn’t be as strong or as motivated or as valuable to the trip as the men in the class would be.
Yeah, I got pretty angry. It was that kind of angry where your whole face starts to burn and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.
I demanded that he clarify as soon as he finished his sentence. I was on my toes. I stood up for myself instead of passively laughing or feigning indignation the way TOO MANY women do.
I made a point to include this little story when I did my teacher evaluation.
My biggest beef lies with the fact that the sexist professor in question teaches science. It’s horrible when any person makes a sexist comment, but professors of Math and Science in institutions of higher learning are the ones we are relying on to encourage female students to stay in those fields. We need their help balancing these gender inequalities in the professional world that are keeping some really crumby stereotypes in tact.
So I’m going to do whatever the hell I want to do with my Women’s Studies minor. My current agenda includes things like LEARN, and RAISE AWARENESS, and STAND UP TO IGNORANT PROFESSORS.
And RIGHT ALL CURRENT GENDER-RELATED WRONGS.
I’m doing well with the first three.
The last one may take me a while.
-E
