FRESHMAN JOURNAL
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In search of the perfect schedule

By Taylor Wizner, the University of Michigan

Even in my second semester, I can't get over the exhilarating freedom to manage my life and take almost any class I want. With that freedom, though, I also feel a sense of responsibility--that I owe it to my grandmother, who had always wanted to go to college but never could, and my parents, who are thankfully paying my tuition--to choose the perfect set of classes. With this in mind, and the more than 3,000 classes I had to choose from (just in my college), creating a schedule became a stressful and all consuming process.

The problem with liberal arts, especially for an undecided major, is that every class looks interesting but, for many reasons, not every interesting class is smart to take. These reasons boil down to the professors, times, location, difficulty of the class, amount of credit hours, etc. So sifting through the bad classes to find the good requires a large amount of research, including searching ratemyproffessor.com, discussing classes with upperclassmen, and sitting in on lectures.

Still struggling to condense my list of 15 courses, I wrote down a few ideas for what I wanted to gain in my academic experience. I found out that my biggest wish was to take a small discussion class, one of the reasons I envied the small liberal arts colleges. Searching through courses, I found my perfect match, an upper level English course taught by a returning retired professor famous in years past. To give you an idea of this professor, he was so passionate about the topic of the course that he spent years learning a different language, traveling to the author's hometown, and studying chemistry just to understand the works. I signed up for the lecture immediately and also squeezed off the large waitlist into the 10-person discussion addition. The discussion made all the difference. On the first day, the professor spent the period talking with us about our skills, travel experiences, and aspirations. He already knew me better in our first class period than any of my high school teachers. My professor also dared us to take risks, which I certainly did as I tried to fade into the background of my exclusively senior-filled class.

After days of laboring over my schedule, sitting in classes, and adding and dropping classes furiously, I made my final decisions, taking into account my student orgs, exercise and my sanity. But after hours of scrutiny, I finally think I have the perfect schedule ... at least this week. But that's the beauty of the system, the second I change my mind I can jump into a new class.

Previous Entries

December 2011: Pieces of Me

With the demands of a college lifestyle, I find less and less time to write. I gave up on my daily journal in the first few weeks of school, and writing of short stories and poems has also ceased. I gloomily came to the conclusion that leisure writing is a thing of the past, but I found a way of supplementing my creativity elsewhere. 

Every day as soon as I wake up, I make a list of all the things I need to accomplish that day. The list usually includes interview times, short naps (they are the best), time allotted for papers/projects, and other homework. But as the day goes on, I make more lists. Over the past few days I have made lists of the fruit I like, my favorite blogs, my female role models, books I want to read over break, possible classes for next term, the best ways to make a sandwich, ways I can improve my interviews, pen names, workout routines and funny football commercials. The list (of my many lists) goes embarrassingly on and on.

If I do not write a list when I get caught up in a thought, I become debilitated. But when I make a list, the list holds the thought, making it concrete and distancing it from me. When I am ready, I can return to it. I can be seen in class neurotically scribbling on ripped paper or typing on my phone a thought that I must document. 

This brings me to my point. Writing--writing anything at all--is so incredibly important. Thoughts from journals, notes, even lists add up to ideas, which grow into dreams and stories. You don't have to be an English major to write little notes and appreciate your thoughts. While I may not have time to write anything of literary merit, I still have scraps of thoughts and memories, which exist as little legacies, pieces of me, which I can return to in the future. Writing also clears the mind and provides self-actualization. With each scratch of a funny thing someone said, or a vivid dream jotted down, we can peer into what makes us unique, and come closer to discovering who we are.

The collection of random scraps of paper throughout my room probably makes me look a bit neurotic. But who knows, maybe one of those lists will contain the premise to the next great American novel?

November 2011: The Great Debate

One of the best things about college is being fully immersed in an academic environment. I know this sounds like something out of a college brochure, but it is completely true, and makes all the difference. Let me explain.

There is this thing in college called academic freedom. This means that all those basic, boring, "college preparatory" classes that you had to take in high school are no more. Say hello to freedom of the mind! OK, I am exaggerating a bit here. There are definitely some requirements, but even these required classes may turn out to be the best academic experiences.

For example, I probably wouldn't have taken Anthropology 101 if the class hadn't 1) Been open (I had to switch my schedule during the first week of classes) and 2) Fulfilled a requirement.

But the class continues to surprise me. I love my professor, who makes each class interesting, filled with her quirky anecdotes. In addition, the two sophomore girls adjacent to my dorm room, are also in my class and discussion section. Currently, we are reading a book about organ transplants, an anthropological study in which the author balances the ethics of our culture with the results of the surgeries. The two girls in my class are both science majors and feel strongly about the topic, while others provide different but equally valuable perspectives, in addition to the author's opinion. Our discussion carried outside of the classroom, to our dorm hall truffle-making party, where we discussed the meaning of life while smashing Oreos to bits.

But it doesn't end there. As part of a program I am in at Michigan, I am required to take a class called Great Books with the other 500 students in the program, most of who live in my dorm. Over the last few weeks, we read the Odyssey and the Iliad and our dormitory hall became a constant debate of which epic is superior, the role of women in the epics, and who was the more valiant character: Hector or Achilles? The debate, at times, became heated, and the whiteboard mounted on my dorm room door became a brutal pro-con list for the Hector and Achilles character battle. We stay up all hours of the night, science majors, English majors, business majors, all reading together, debating, writing. We have perfected the art of the argument, at least dorm floor style, and, at the same time, fallen in love with our characters and relished the friendships that emerged from the debates.

The class--because it forces us to read volumes of classical literature--is despised by many, but I don't feel the same way. Regardless of the subject matter, the class has become a unifying community. As we grind our teeth through the histories and grapple with Aristotle, we are putting our minds together and enjoying college, books and all.


October 2011: A Blue Blood

My parents met at the University of Michigan. They lived in the same dorm on the same hall, and through a long friendship they fell in love. I like to think they met at a football game, cheering in the stands at each glorious catch of the ball.

I learned early in my childhood what it meant to bleed blue. My bedroom was filled with Michigan apparel: a signed football Jersey, a school flag, pins and buttons bearing the great “M”, and my most prized possession--a pale yellow College Game Day Michigan football cap with signatures from both Braylon Edwards and Steve Breaston. I remember the day my father and I stood outside the stadium waiting for the players. When they finally came out, my father hurled me over other fans to reach the football players, Sharpie in hand. I reached Edwards first, the wide receiver who would later be picked third overall in the 2005 NFL Draft and who went to my mother's high school. Then I intercepted Breaston, my favorite player and Michigan's greatest punt returner. After games I would close my eyes and see him running, evading player-by-player creating a maze with his movements.

For a long time, I forgot what it meant to be a Michigan Wolverine. In high school, cross-country meets took the place of football Saturdays, and story time consisted of school and jobs. In the commotion of our lives, our family's love of the Michigan football took a timeout. But, in an instant every moment came rushing back.

It was called Under the Lights and it was Michigan's first ever night game. We played Notre Dame and started off the first quarter limping along. I winced until the end of the third quarter when we started adding points to our side of the scoreboard. But the final minute and a half is all that most fans remember. Cheers filled every inch of the stadium. (Michigan fans were so loud that Notre Dame had to use all of their timeouts to communicate plays.) The Big House and its 114,804 fans were a frenzy of swirling maize pom-poms focused by a giant spotlight. The chaos began. With a minute and a half, we scored a touchdown leading us just ahead of Notre Dame; then with a minute remaining Notre Dame scored another touchdown; and then in the last thirty seconds of the game, Michigan returned the ball and scored a final touchdown with two seconds to spare. The Big House went wild.

I joined the fans as we rushed to the front of the stands, cheering on the players, watching the marching band complete one final performance, and trying to sneak a look at the College Game Day closing remarks on the field. We cheered, took photos and stood mesmerized for hours after the game finished. We lost our voices.

Walking back to the dorms, the students were in a daze. Some were still ecstatic about the game, starting up the chant, "It's great to be a Michigan Wolverine" and preparing for a long night of celebration, still others were lost in thought, contemplating the greatness of the game and trying to slow down the events that occurred so quickly. A girl next to me complained that this game was the end--that there will be nothing better, nothing to look forward to for the rest of the season. A random passerby student chuckled, "You just wait for the Ohio State game," then pulling his buddy to his side, he belted into the air, "Go Blue!"


September 2011: Rooming Blind Helped Me to See

"Are you going in blind?" my friend asked. "You know, without a roommate?"

When I signed up for housing at the University of Michigan, I didn't know you could choose your roommate. I thought living with someone you didn't know was one of those essential college experiences everyone goes through. I didn't think twice. Later, after dozens of conversations with parents and friends, I realized people were strangely weary of a random assignment. I was praised for being traditional; I was called brave; but, after each conversation, I felt that they were annoyed with my indifference.

Other classmates, panicked about the uncertainty, learned secrets to the art of roommate selection. In my high school where more than 60 graduating seniors would be attending my university, there was a wide range of alternatives for those seeking control over their living situation. Some people chose good friends, acquaintances, friendly neighbors or someone with similar interests from online roommate search sites. Then, there is the silent majority, like myself, who listen but are puzzled by the roommate babble. I chose to lose control, an oxymoron I know.  I was ready for change—to explore a new me through new people. I did not know what I would find and that is exactly what the adventure of college promises.

Late at night on Aug. 1, rumors of the roommate posting hit Facebook. Scanning my way through Michigan's housing website, with a little directional help again from Facebook, I was able to access my room arrangements, including my roommate's name: Amanda H. Immediately, I went on Facebook, and she was nowhere to be found. Oh no, I thought, she is one of those crazy people who boycott Facebook. A whole slew of stereotypes whizzed through my head and my certainty in rooming blind was suddenly shaken. That is … until Amanda "friended" me 10 minutes later. After I calmed down, we Facebook-chatted while I combed through her interests, finding that we shared a love of literature and National Parks; however, we were on opposite spectrums with our music taste, sports and academic interests.

Then, we moved to texting. We wrote each other day and night about lofting arrangements, mini fridges and whether or not we wanted cable. We spent hours researching the closet size, the perfect rug dimensions and color to hide stains, the nearest bathroom, laundry room and wireless router. As our move-in date neared, our excitement grew. We took turns traveling to Ann Arbor and sneaking into our dorm room. I studied the images she sent me, perusing back-to school-sales for an acceptable fridge and under-the-bed storage.

Though at the time I thought I was avoiding Amanda, putting her aside to focus on our new home, I realized that we were actually becoming closer. What we had in common was not so much our interests or majors, but that we were going to experience our first year of college together, share the same space and the same time, literally. We had our future in common.

So, when I moved in on the first day, I wasn't greeting a stranger. Though we had never met, we easily worked together to create our room, arranging our own areas, tossing aside our earlier agreements on room set-up and lofting trundle-style. Together, we mapped out our schedules, met our neighbors and set off to discover the campus. Will my year with Amanda work out?  It's hard to tell after only a couple of days, but one thing is certain, taking a chance at something uncertain like rooming blind has made me a better person already.  And, heck, it makes for a better adventure and certainly a better story.