Doing things well
My biggest problem with college as a former unschooler (and in general) was feeling that I never had time to do things truly well.
Of course, this was partly the plague of perfectionism. I would turn in otherwise fine Ling papers with a feeling of mortification and shame because the indentation of my data sentences didn't line up properly throughout the text (awful fucking MS Word).
Finally, last weekend, I got to realize the potential of some college papers when I edited and typeset them in LaTeX. I learned I'm not a hopeless perfectionist after all: I can achieve a level of thoroughness with which I feel utterly satisfied, and attain a confident sense of completion. My standards aren't out of reach--it's just that they're not typically accommodated by deadlines.*
(Or, maybe my papers still suck, but LaTeX just makes everything so darn beautiful? I fear I might become one of those obsessive types who, like, makes LaTeX shopping lists.)
*Some people will question why it was impossible for me to take the time to pick up LaTeX--clearly a useful if not crucial tool for a linguist--during the semester. These people have never seen me write a paper. Usually it involved a lengthy extension, a medley of prescription drugs, and an all-nighter culminating in a meltdown beside the library printer, and finally an Olympic dash across campus to submit the still-warm pages, laden with typos my bleary eyes had missed. I got through college on being bright and being obsessively dedicated, if slightly unhinged. It's unfair, I suppose; if professors tended to privilege organizational prowess over passion, I couldn't have made it. (They also tend to be sympathetic about neuroses and eccentricities, respecting and even sharing them!) And it's a luxury of attending a small liberal arts college that professors and administrators know you personally and probably recognize that you're not a total moron despite what the glaring typo in the first paragraph of your paper might suggest.
I know that at a certain point one can't expect to continue to progress in academia propelled by passion alone. I believe that point is grad school. I was so elated doing linguistics again this weekend, and it made me want to go to grad school desperately. And then I realized how IMMEDIATELY that elation would be SQUASHED and replaced with anxiety and self-loathing if I had a deadline in the morning.
Of course, this was partly the plague of perfectionism. I would turn in otherwise fine Ling papers with a feeling of mortification and shame because the indentation of my data sentences didn't line up properly throughout the text (awful fucking MS Word).
Finally, last weekend, I got to realize the potential of some college papers when I edited and typeset them in LaTeX. I learned I'm not a hopeless perfectionist after all: I can achieve a level of thoroughness with which I feel utterly satisfied, and attain a confident sense of completion. My standards aren't out of reach--it's just that they're not typically accommodated by deadlines.*
(Or, maybe my papers still suck, but LaTeX just makes everything so darn beautiful? I fear I might become one of those obsessive types who, like, makes LaTeX shopping lists.)
*Some people will question why it was impossible for me to take the time to pick up LaTeX--clearly a useful if not crucial tool for a linguist--during the semester. These people have never seen me write a paper. Usually it involved a lengthy extension, a medley of prescription drugs, and an all-nighter culminating in a meltdown beside the library printer, and finally an Olympic dash across campus to submit the still-warm pages, laden with typos my bleary eyes had missed. I got through college on being bright and being obsessively dedicated, if slightly unhinged. It's unfair, I suppose; if professors tended to privilege organizational prowess over passion, I couldn't have made it. (They also tend to be sympathetic about neuroses and eccentricities, respecting and even sharing them!) And it's a luxury of attending a small liberal arts college that professors and administrators know you personally and probably recognize that you're not a total moron despite what the glaring typo in the first paragraph of your paper might suggest.
I know that at a certain point one can't expect to continue to progress in academia propelled by passion alone. I believe that point is grad school. I was so elated doing linguistics again this weekend, and it made me want to go to grad school desperately. And then I realized how IMMEDIATELY that elation would be SQUASHED and replaced with anxiety and self-loathing if I had a deadline in the morning.