I am about to confess something to you about myself.
I took four classes at the U of M this past semester. Chemistry 1021. Biology. Humanities. Introduction to Health Careers.
I have frequently contemplated the number these classes make in total. I have concluded: 4. I proceeded to think about the grades I made in these 4 particular classes. C-. C. B+. B. I venture to tally these grades together in number figure and arrive at a number known as, “GPA” which would be 2.385.
I was subconsciously so ashamed of this number after I looked it up on the internet that I immediately clicked the back button in case anyone behind me were to look over and see that small yet telling number.
I can’t help but think, “Why the hell am I in college?”
Immediately my mind whips back to the report cards I received in high school and reminds me that I never once saw a C or D, and rarely a B. I knew the letter A very well and was confident I would find it by my side wherever I went.
Now, after taking 46 out of 120 college credits I wonder what I am doing wrong. I wonder why it feels like I am always 2 seconds away from failing and destroying every path I envisioned for my future. I wonder why failure feels like a foreign cancer in my bloodstream that my body is aching to completely knock out. I wonder why letters entered into an official system control my fate even though they describe nothing about the long hours of work I put in to make them or even about the kind of person I am or want to be. Really, they’re just letters. Yet, for some reason I can reason with myself over and over again about this factor and still get jumpy when taking tests. In fact, I think this past semester brought out the worst anxiety feelings I have ever known. A spurt of depression and an overall melancholy attitude was a familiar pattern for me. Needless to say, I greeted Christmas vacation with arms opened wider than the Mississippi river.
In two days, I will go back to school. Back to the U of M. Back to long bus rides. Back to thousands of faces of whom I will probably never speak to or even smile at. It hasn’t quite hit me yet. Perhaps, because it hasn’t happened yet. Although this is probably a good thing, to spend as little of my break as possible worrying about the future. I really hate that about myself. I wish I didn’t worry so much. I think its just hard not to when I am so detail orientated. It’s easier to consider all the details of what could happen and consider what I will do when they happen. It is not a matter of if but when.
But I don’t want to do that. My goal for this semester is to worry less. To feel happy when I fail and know that I can do better. I can’t just expect this to happen organically though. I’ve slowly been cutting things out of my life that have been competing for my time and constant attention. I am now living in a house with 3 other people, as opposed to 6. I loved living at the hamline house, but I think for right now this will be more contusive to a 15-credit semester. I’m trying to work less. I’m currently attempting to cut my hours at one job to almost nothing. Hopefully, I can go down to “sub status” meaning I’m not on the schedule at all, I’ll just be popping in to ring up groceries every once in a while. I’m hoping, some of these things will work. And I am also hoping I can make time to do things outside of school like volunteer, stay connected with friends and family, continue writing and reading.
Time will tell.
My other goal is to get at least a C. C. B+. B. this semester.