Hint: Grades have nothing to do with it
In just a few short weeks, thousands of Gryphons will write the last exam of their undergrad, sealing the deal on one very expensive piece of paper.
With four (or five, or six) years of unread syllabi, overlapping midterms, and caffeinated regrets behind them, U of G’s newest bunch of graduates will bid adieu to what has very likely been a significant chapter of their lives.
As these gown-clad students walk across an adorned stage, engaging in prestigious handshakes and beaming for photos, family members will observe proudly as their well-earned success is celebrated.
Like most of these students, the completion of my degree brought feelings of pride, achievement, and, yes, relief. Yet, the longer I have allowed myself to reflect on what it is that made my undergraduate stint a success, the more I realize it has nothing to do with the letters or program listed on my degree. Obtaining that overpriced piece of paper is not in itself an acceptable confirmation of success—nor should it be.I do not mean to invalidate the hard work that goes into earning a degree. Any person who walks away from an educational institution with a piece of paper to show for it has undoubtedly endured countless tests, challenging content, and unreasonable workloads; for that, they are to be commended. However, adapting to the system through strategic bubble fill-ins, professor-tailored essay writing, and personal sacrifices is less an accomplishment than it is a survival mechanism.
I keep referring to my degree as a piece of paper, because in its physical sense, that’s all it is. It doesn’t really change how employers see me or how I feel about myself as a person. These degrees are mass printed every year, handed out to any individual who has satisfied a list of required courses, and, for that reason, I do not feel successful.
When I think of the things I’ve done, the changes I’ve made, and the hardships I’ve experienced between my first O-Week and my last exam; it is that astonishing transition that has made my degree a phenomenal souvenir and testament to my abilities.
So if the numbers on my transcript don’t determine the success of the past half-decade of my life, what does? The answer: plenty.When I first arrived in Guelph, I was a religiously routine-driven, academics-prioritizing, wannabe people-pleaser. In many ways, I still am. I do like to follow a routine, I do take my schooling seriously, and I do want people to like and respect me. But, after two difficult semesters that involved missing out on many opportunities in exchange for an academic “advantage” that didn’t actually manifest itself, I realized my university experience would include little more than misery if I didn’t allow myself to expand my horizons. So that’s exactly what I did.
I put myself out there. It was simultaneously difficult and fortifying for my emotional, physical, and mental health, and that was probably why it felt so darn liberating. I met so many new people; some I liked, some I didn’t. I talked politics, religion, and sports. I made friends from every major and learned something new from each of them.
My university experience has been successful because I fell in love with so much. I fell in love with Guelph, I fell in love with country music (still getting a hard time from my family on that one), and I fell in love with one amazing boy.
It has been successful because I went places I never thought I’d go, tried things I never thought I’d try, and felt ways I never thought I would feel.It has been successful because I formed relationships I never thought were possible; the kind of connections that just can’t be fostered in a high school cafeteria.
My painful past is no longer something that prevents me from bonding with others; I found the most amazing best friend I could ever ask for not despite my demons, but because of them.
Don’t let your undergrad be defined by the classes you take or the grades you earn. These things are just background noise to the transition that is unfolding in front of you. It’s not that it is unimportant to take your education seriously, but that much of what you learn occurs outside the library’s walls.
My years at Guelph have allowed me to accept the person I was always meant to be. And that is something for which no piece of paper can ever do justice.
Photo by Mariah Bridgeman/The Ontarion.