The transition into this term felt like being dropped into a pool and told to swim before I could even surface for air. One minute, I was catching up with friends, eating rushed dinners with people I hadn’t seen in months, laughing too loud and staying up too late; the next, I was hunching over tables in the Life Sciences Center and Fairchild Physical Sciences Center, whispering the names of organic compounds under my breath like incantations, and hoping they’d stick.
This term, I started CHEM 51: Organic Chemistry, a class I’ve been warned about since I first considered studying the sciences. Everyone has something to say about it. “The weed-out class.” “A rite of passage.” “Just survive it.” I’ve heard jokes, horror stories and everything in between. Even my high school biology teacher — a man usually brimming with scientific optimism — advised me to grit my teeth, get through it and move on. Orgo has been a storm I can’t outrun, and it’s finally caught up to me.
On day one, we filled out a survey for the professor. One of the questions asked about our career plans, and the options were medical school or the PhD path. As someone who doesn’t want to do either, I feel out of place. I find myself rereading protocols in lab until the words start to lose their shape. I stare at the pipette in my hand as if it’s a stranger. I second-guess everything — my notes, my instincts, my ability to measure liquid in a tube. No matter how prepared I feel walking into the lab, I spend the first few minutes paralyzed by the fear that I’ve forgotten how to do something I’ve done a hundred times.
I don’t know if I believe in “just getting through it.” There’s something unsettling about the idea that the proper response to a challenge is to steel yourself, clench your jaw and wait for the discomfort to pass. I’ve tried it. I get things done, mentally detached from the outcome because at least it’s over, but it also makes life feel like a list of things to endure. I don’t want to live that way.
Maybe it’s naive, but I want to believe that every class has something meaningful in it, even if it’s buried under convoluted mechanisms and synthesis reactions. I want to believe that even when I’m frustrated or tired or convinced that I’ve hit my limit, there’s still something worth holding on to.
Perhaps this isn’t the season of gritting your teeth and putting your head down. Instead, it could be the season of laughing when things go wrong in lab, of sitting in the sun outside the library even when you’re behind on readings. Rather than deferring enjoyment, maybe we should appreciate the present. Maybe we should try to revel in everything, to delight in things before we’re good at them.
This week in Mirror, we show up and explore numerous little corners of campus, taking the time to revel in each one. One writer sits down with Professor Julie Rose to discuss her new role in the Ethics Institute. Another piece investigates the history of tea at Sanborn Library.
I’m tired, probably behind on something, constantly second-guessing. But also here. Also trying. Here at Mirror, our writers are exploring new niches at Dartmouth, and I’m carrying that mindset forward, taking the time to enjoy every day and appreciating the chaos along the way. I think you should do the same. I think that’s what spring is really for.
