Reflection on Freshman Year
One of my favorite writing prompts of all time was an assignment our AP Lit teacher assigned us at the end of the class. The document begins with the following statement:
What did I learn?
What did I hope to learn that I didn’t learn? What was I surprised by? What was the one best moment of the year? What was the one worst moment of the year? What have you learned about yourself this year? What do you know you don’t know about life?
In the past two years, my responses have taken the form of letters to oneself. The form remains this year, but I've chosen to be intentionally more theoretical and less attached to particular events in this response, allowing me to more broadly explore what I've learned in general.
Dear Alan from August 20th, 2019,
It is perhaps not a surprise to you to hear that much of what has transpired in the nine months of temporal distance which separate you and I consist of many unexpected experiences and previously untrodden paths. At your point in time, you have just arrived back in Boston after two weeks at home. You have checked into Next House for the first time. You are excited, mostly; maybe slightly scared.
This trepidation is certainly justified, although it is focused in the wrong places. You quickly learn that although you are well-braced for impostor syndrome after years of being the one South Dakotan in rooms full of people much smarter than you, you are still hit by it when confronted with other’s writings or singing, among other things; a sort of Dunning-Kruger effect you are ultimately still working through. You find that although your work ethic is able to keep up, your ability to choose what to apply it to continues to be somewhat misplaced. And although you are initially concerned about not fitting in amidst the mathspeak, you sort of end up falling into place in a sort of ineffable place in the community, between your dorm, your activities, and your friends at large.
You do end up learning a lot, of course. For one, the academic content you hope will bring you some amount of future benefit—Aristotle and Aristophanes, acids and bases, deltas and epsilons, scenes and sequels, the list goes on, although the exact classes you take aren't necessarily the ones you expected to take. As always, however, it is what you learn beyond the classroom that matters most. It is hard to identify exactly what that is at first. Last year, you wrote that “if learning is defined by changes in behavior…perhaps you haven’t necessarily learned much this year.” If you look closer, though, it becomes hard to argue that such a claim would apply to this school year.
On the practical side, it is a question of how to survive. How to cook, how to do laundry, how to motivate oneself to accomplish. The consistency with which you can get things done is honestly marginally astounding in retrospect, and it’s not necessarily easy to see that in the moments when you are drowning in work—an event which occurs occasionally, which I am sure you are also primed to expect already. After all, you are taking more courses than you were senior year, and each of them is still more work. Despite that, you are consistent, and, in general, your sense of self-efficacy is much higher than it had been, for better or for worse. You survive, after all. That was never a guarantee.
In a broader sense, it is, as a writer might describe it, character development. Learning how to navigate different levels of professional environments, developing a sense of responsibility to act in the community on committees and in “leadership” roles. In general, it is becoming a more active member of various social circles, a behavior change which follows from having found a more secure sense of place. You were never scared of responsibility; rather, you just hadn't found the community to motivate you to apply yourself.
There is perhaps more there to be said on this particular subject, but the thing about this kind of character development is that it never feels like one has changed, but rather that one has always been this way. The rapid journey of self-discovery and the increased interest in the humanities brought by junior year can never occur again, but the new experiences and memories continue to roll themselves slowly into one’s character, such that the person is distinct, and yet still recognizable from the past.
Freshman year does leave you with plenty left to learn—as, perhaps, it should, although that doesn’t necessarily make it any less concerning. Recall that in high school, your identity varied widely whether you were at robotics, at debate, at science bowl, in class, and so on and so forth. That question remains—the ‘you’ which you portray still varies in your activities, whether it be an acapella rehearsal or a Quiz Bowl practice or just hanging around your wing of Next, although it is somewhat more consistent than it has been in the past.
Other questions remain as well—questions which you might have never considered to be a possibility, like “what do I mean when I use the words ‘romantic relationship’”, as well as questions which you might already have wanted the answer to, like “what am I physically capable of accomplishing in any given semester?” The answer to these questions, one hopes, will come in due time, but for the moment they remain a mystery—and, for the most part, that’s okay.
The biggest lesson yet to be learned is a question of prioritization. Doing everything is not an option—but even now, it calls to me. You choose to take up tasks which perhaps are not good choices to make given your workload—and for the moment, you are capable of pulling it off—but as time passes, it will become more difficult. Your particular attachment to academic achievement, for one, continues, even in spite of friendly academic regulations. On the other hand, your appreciation of the people around you continues to strengthen, manifesting itself in the mantra that "I will never regret spending time with friends." Ultimately, it's hard to pick and choose what to do without a solid vision of an end goal for college, and any concept of concrete future plans still remain far and few between. Chalk it up as another question yet to be answered.
Some of the best moments come from the simple things in life—the moments spent in the main lounge with your wing community, the dinners with friends at various dining halls, serendipitous or planned, the videocalls with friends you haven’t talked to in a while. That’s not to say there isn’t joy found in the bigger journeys—the long walks to Seaport, the drives to Yale, the fall break excursion to New York. The small things add up though, and they drive home the fact that you are part of something bigger than yourself, and that there are so many stories and experiences left to hear and see.
Some of your worst moments lie in crisis—and although the forces are external to you, and the effects are much more substantial than those you face, it does affect you internally perhaps more than you are willing to admit. The moments during the year when you cannot shake the feeling of malaise that permeates your being drain you, and although it is hard to identify the roots of those feelings, there’s always an unshakable sense that, at that moment, you fail to be a functioning member of your community. The people around you, however, remind you to keep pushing on—and after some struggle and some rest, you do.
There’s a metaphor that Admissions likes to use that you might remember—that MIT is a mountain, and that each year they’re assembling a team of a thousand students or so to climb the mountain together. The meaning of that metaphor has never been clearer, and it is the beauty of the journey you’ve started. Yes, times will be difficult, and the road ahead is as unclear for you as it is for me now. Despite that, the team of people around you is dedicated to helping you push yourself up that mountain, no matter which trail you happen to end up taking. Take their hands, and resolve to keep moving forwards.
Alan Zhu
May 20th, 2020
Rationale: One part of maturing and growing is the ability to reflect. Often, even adults, have a hard time self-reflecting over their past, their mistakes, their successes, etc. This skill is needed in everyday life whether it consists of moments of fighting, regretful words, or learning from failure and likewise success.It continues to ask you to think and reflect on everything which you faced in that year—whether or not it had to deal with AP Literature. “The struggles, the steps you took to overcome, the successes, the laughter…the boredom, the frustration.” It instructs the reader to “just think and reflect”—and only once that process is complete, does it present you the prompt, which it instructs you to answer in any form:
What did I learn?
What did I hope to learn that I didn’t learn? What was I surprised by? What was the one best moment of the year? What was the one worst moment of the year? What have you learned about yourself this year? What do you know you don’t know about life?
In the past two years, my responses have taken the form of letters to oneself. The form remains this year, but I've chosen to be intentionally more theoretical and less attached to particular events in this response, allowing me to more broadly explore what I've learned in general.
Dear Alan from August 20th, 2019,
It is perhaps not a surprise to you to hear that much of what has transpired in the nine months of temporal distance which separate you and I consist of many unexpected experiences and previously untrodden paths. At your point in time, you have just arrived back in Boston after two weeks at home. You have checked into Next House for the first time. You are excited, mostly; maybe slightly scared.
This trepidation is certainly justified, although it is focused in the wrong places. You quickly learn that although you are well-braced for impostor syndrome after years of being the one South Dakotan in rooms full of people much smarter than you, you are still hit by it when confronted with other’s writings or singing, among other things; a sort of Dunning-Kruger effect you are ultimately still working through. You find that although your work ethic is able to keep up, your ability to choose what to apply it to continues to be somewhat misplaced. And although you are initially concerned about not fitting in amidst the mathspeak, you sort of end up falling into place in a sort of ineffable place in the community, between your dorm, your activities, and your friends at large.
You do end up learning a lot, of course. For one, the academic content you hope will bring you some amount of future benefit—Aristotle and Aristophanes, acids and bases, deltas and epsilons, scenes and sequels, the list goes on, although the exact classes you take aren't necessarily the ones you expected to take. As always, however, it is what you learn beyond the classroom that matters most. It is hard to identify exactly what that is at first. Last year, you wrote that “if learning is defined by changes in behavior…perhaps you haven’t necessarily learned much this year.” If you look closer, though, it becomes hard to argue that such a claim would apply to this school year.
On the practical side, it is a question of how to survive. How to cook, how to do laundry, how to motivate oneself to accomplish. The consistency with which you can get things done is honestly marginally astounding in retrospect, and it’s not necessarily easy to see that in the moments when you are drowning in work—an event which occurs occasionally, which I am sure you are also primed to expect already. After all, you are taking more courses than you were senior year, and each of them is still more work. Despite that, you are consistent, and, in general, your sense of self-efficacy is much higher than it had been, for better or for worse. You survive, after all. That was never a guarantee.
In a broader sense, it is, as a writer might describe it, character development. Learning how to navigate different levels of professional environments, developing a sense of responsibility to act in the community on committees and in “leadership” roles. In general, it is becoming a more active member of various social circles, a behavior change which follows from having found a more secure sense of place. You were never scared of responsibility; rather, you just hadn't found the community to motivate you to apply yourself.
There is perhaps more there to be said on this particular subject, but the thing about this kind of character development is that it never feels like one has changed, but rather that one has always been this way. The rapid journey of self-discovery and the increased interest in the humanities brought by junior year can never occur again, but the new experiences and memories continue to roll themselves slowly into one’s character, such that the person is distinct, and yet still recognizable from the past.
Freshman year does leave you with plenty left to learn—as, perhaps, it should, although that doesn’t necessarily make it any less concerning. Recall that in high school, your identity varied widely whether you were at robotics, at debate, at science bowl, in class, and so on and so forth. That question remains—the ‘you’ which you portray still varies in your activities, whether it be an acapella rehearsal or a Quiz Bowl practice or just hanging around your wing of Next, although it is somewhat more consistent than it has been in the past.
Other questions remain as well—questions which you might have never considered to be a possibility, like “what do I mean when I use the words ‘romantic relationship’”, as well as questions which you might already have wanted the answer to, like “what am I physically capable of accomplishing in any given semester?” The answer to these questions, one hopes, will come in due time, but for the moment they remain a mystery—and, for the most part, that’s okay.
The biggest lesson yet to be learned is a question of prioritization. Doing everything is not an option—but even now, it calls to me. You choose to take up tasks which perhaps are not good choices to make given your workload—and for the moment, you are capable of pulling it off—but as time passes, it will become more difficult. Your particular attachment to academic achievement, for one, continues, even in spite of friendly academic regulations. On the other hand, your appreciation of the people around you continues to strengthen, manifesting itself in the mantra that "I will never regret spending time with friends." Ultimately, it's hard to pick and choose what to do without a solid vision of an end goal for college, and any concept of concrete future plans still remain far and few between. Chalk it up as another question yet to be answered.
Some of the best moments come from the simple things in life—the moments spent in the main lounge with your wing community, the dinners with friends at various dining halls, serendipitous or planned, the videocalls with friends you haven’t talked to in a while. That’s not to say there isn’t joy found in the bigger journeys—the long walks to Seaport, the drives to Yale, the fall break excursion to New York. The small things add up though, and they drive home the fact that you are part of something bigger than yourself, and that there are so many stories and experiences left to hear and see.
Some of your worst moments lie in crisis—and although the forces are external to you, and the effects are much more substantial than those you face, it does affect you internally perhaps more than you are willing to admit. The moments during the year when you cannot shake the feeling of malaise that permeates your being drain you, and although it is hard to identify the roots of those feelings, there’s always an unshakable sense that, at that moment, you fail to be a functioning member of your community. The people around you, however, remind you to keep pushing on—and after some struggle and some rest, you do.
There’s a metaphor that Admissions likes to use that you might remember—that MIT is a mountain, and that each year they’re assembling a team of a thousand students or so to climb the mountain together. The meaning of that metaphor has never been clearer, and it is the beauty of the journey you’ve started. Yes, times will be difficult, and the road ahead is as unclear for you as it is for me now. Despite that, the team of people around you is dedicated to helping you push yourself up that mountain, no matter which trail you happen to end up taking. Take their hands, and resolve to keep moving forwards.
Alan Zhu
May 20th, 2020
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments are appreciated, as long as you're not being a total jerk.