The Box of Chocolates Effect

 

"Life is like a box of chocolates." -- Forrest Gump

Or, in this case, a box of fancy donuts.

There's one thing you need to realize when you walk into a university of over five thousand individuals (in one program!): there are a lot of people.  Clearly, that seems to be the case, but we often forget this fact when we waltz past the Harvardian "gates" of King's College Circle and towards Convocation Hall, which should be called The Observatory based on its dome-shaped exterior.  Individuals walk through for invocation, and individuals walk out for convocation; however, while you walk on sacred U of T ground, you're no more than "one of many" and that's not a bad thing.  It's just a fact. 

Having come from a relatively small, tight-knit high school which boasted no more than 80-100 graduates per year, the shock was more intense for me than it was for a former colleague of mine who hailed from Northern Collegiate.  Though, all of this "big fish in a pond becomes small fish in a sea" is just a tangent.  The real lesson to be learned is that although there are many of you, you're not all the same and neither are your choices.  Alaskan Salmon can't hang its head in shame because it doesn't have a sworded snout like the Swordfish; the two shouldn't be comparing their functions at all; it just doesn't make sense.  So, then why would someone who would rather learn about human physiology compare their interests, their passions and academic successes to someone who enjoys entomology?   The same thought applies.

The Box of Chocolate Effects is how I thought of first year.  There's so much to choose from, so many people around you and so many different ways to do things.  Of course, U of T may emphasize that there is one way to do something, but that doesn't mean there's one way to figure that out.  Chocolate-covered donuts may find chemistry easier than others, but I'm pretty sure Boston Cream's get it too.  Just differently.  The sheer amount of ways to do things, of programs to be in, of people you meet who just seem to understand everything (in their own special way), is overwhelming.  If you're like me, you'll stare into a box of chocolates or a box of donuts and wonder which one to choose for a while too long.  If you're as neurotic as I am, you'll wonder why no one's chosen the Coconut Sprinkle or why the Honey Crueller looks abused; you'll question choosing convenience and comfort over adventurous and fancy (in my case, that's a Chocolate Dip vs. Boston Cream).  Others will urge you to choose the exciting new flavours, or the ones that seem less enchanting (so those damn pendejos can take your donut).

First rule of thumb: Don't be fooled into making a decision that you don't approve of.

My first year of university, I spent hours trying to figure out what program to enroll in, a Program of Study (POSt) if you will.  So many people will tell you to choose the hard subjects, the ones that others will gape at or cringe in fear upon hearing its name.  I can list a few: toxicology, pharmacology, biochemistry, immunology.  In the same manner, these people will frown upon what they consider "easy" subjects, ones you may be interested in but others frown upon.  These include: zoology, biology, evolutionary biology, cellular biology.  Second rule of thumb: they're idiots; anyone who undermines what you enjoy studying is an idiot (perhaps bigot is a better word).

By the end of January, I was convinced that the only place for me to be taken seriously, to be truly accepted as a budding undergraduate, was in Biochemistry.  Of course, my original choice was Evolutionary Biology & Ecology but so many people laughed at me that I threw in Biochemistry for show.  It doesn't help that most of the people I studied with were advocates of BIG (Biochemistry, Immunology, Molecular Genetics).  Let me tell you something: biochemistry wasn't for me (come to think of it, neither was Evolutionary Biology, but that's another story).  I was so enamoured with the title, with the pride of being in this community of individuals that I stuck with it until I couldn't hold my breath any longer.  I could care less about protein folding, about buffer systems and dissociation curves.  The stench of depravity burned through my nostrils, and I ended up switching my program several times to find my perfect niche (it only took 3 and a half years, but I found it).  Third rule of thumb: It's alright to change your mind; the true point of going to university is to milk it for what its worth -- to learn what you want, and to foster your interests.  If you wouldn't settle for a stale donut, why would you settle for a stale undergraduate learning experience?

I flitted about programs.  Many people snickered at the incongruity of my learning style, but I did what was right for me.  I didn't stick through biochemistry because it would give me pride, despite the mediocre GPA.  I didn't endure EEB courses because it seemed cool, hip and with it.  I went from program to program, loved what I learned in the process, learned what not to do with courses that maimed me, and graduated with my sanity in tact.  And an appreciation for integrative, interdisciplinary knowledge.

Fourth rule of thumb: There is no one way to do things; there is no one program to enroll in; there is no one mould in the cookie cutter collection.  

So go, do what you do and do it well.  I'd rather be an English teacher who inspires her students with my intense love and passion for the subject, for the literature, than a half-baked biochemist who couldn't give a damn about the proteins folding and unfolding rates.

When you reach into that box of chocolates, into that box of donuts, choose the donut you think is best.  If there aren't any left, get a new box.  Reinvent the box, if you will.  Just don't think you need to settle for stale donuts or crumbs, because you don't.