I had a problem when I started at UCLA. Though not serious, it
was definitely amusing.
One year ago, I thought I had “figured it out.”
Flung from my San Francisco hometown into the sprawl of Westwood
dorm life, I felt unbreakable and ready for anything.
But my arrogance was short-lived. I wasn’t actually that
mature or that ready. Realistically, I was still very young ““
and very stupid. Possibly the greatest lesson I learned as I
plodded through countless research papers and strolled along
Hollywood Boulevard was that I still had plenty to learn.
UCLA isn’t high school, right? Well, of course not. But I
wasn’t so quick to understand such a basic concept.
Instead, I spent the beginning of my freshman year haughtily
prancing about my Sproul Hall dorm room. I probably looked like an
obnoxious high school senior ““ I blasted bad music; I told
horrible jokes; I relished in the same tofu at the same salad bar
every day. I probably wrote the worst composition I’ve ever
produced.
The mere fact I had been accepted to UCLA (despite my
imperfections) seemed to place me on top of my game. And, for some
time, I truly believed that I was the slickest cat on the Hill (or
something like that).
Well, that ended ““ in about three days. College
wasn’t that easy, and my jokes weren’t that funny.
Actually, they sucked ““ a lot.
Daily tedium hit me fast and hard. I spent a lot of time
engaging in tragically boring activities like grocery shopping,
folding my own laundry and purchasing at Ackerman Union overpriced
textbooks for class.
“I assumed college would be more exciting,” my
friend Alex, who attends a small liberal arts college in upstate
New York, told me over the phone.
I laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” No doubt, I
attended fraternity and apartment parties, bars, clubs and art
galleries. I even witnessed amazing live music shows in Bruin
Plaza.
But something was missing or yet to be found. The pieces
weren’t adding up. I didn’t feel so slick and cool
anymore.
During my winter quarter I stumbled upon an answer in a class I
took. I reluctantly had enrolled myself in Professor Bruce
Barbee’s class, Education 197J, as a part of the Peer
Advising Network program.
I didn’t want to enroll in the class. I didn’t want
to go to class. But through our weekly readings I was introduced to
a new and important concept: the freshman myth.
Basically, the concept explains, college students often start
their university career with very high, unrealistic expectations.
Like so many others before me, I was relatively disappointed.
Why wasn’t I constantly stimulated? Why didn’t my
floor-mates mix more fruit drinks, strum old acoustics, and listen
to more gritty underground tracks? Why did I have to fold laundry?
Why did my hair look like an unruly Amazon jungle? Why did my
language classes start at 10 a.m.? Why couldn’t I wake up at
10 a.m.? The freshman myth made complete sense!
Then spring break happened. I went back home to San Francisco
and basically existed as a sedentary teenager. I played slightly
better music. I told slightly better jokes.
Then one day my younger sister walked into my room and asked me,
“How’s college going?”
I laughed. “Pretty good.” She seemed confused, so I
decided to elaborate. “I mean, high school’s different
from college, and San Francisco’s different from L.A. And
I’m doing a lot of boring, everyday things at UCLA, too.
It’s not exactly like the movies,” I added.
“So, I mean, are you glad that you chose UCLA?” she
asked.
“Yeah,” I responded, “That’s one thing I
know for sure. I’m glad that I go to UCLA.”
I was glad ““ and I’m still glad today ““ that I
chose UCLA. That’s why, when my spring break came to an end
in mid-April, I made a conscious decision regarding my final few
months as a freshman. I concluded that I wanted to make the best of
my spring quarter.
My UCLA experience really was in my own hands. So when I did
return to campus for my last three months, I made sure to venture
out into the city more often. I dedicated myself to classes that
mattered to me and stabilized friendships that made me feel good.
And I learned to love UCLA in the way I wanted to love it ““
not the way I assumed I would love it.
Above all, I accepted the fact that I was still very young and
very stupid.
So here I am today. I just finished my freshman year at UCLA,
and I feel great. Maybe I’m not as cool as I once assumed
myself to be. Perhaps I’m not quite so slick. And maybe UCLA
didn’t live up to my expectations as a 24/7 party of
intellectual discourse and massive dance-hall extravaganzas.
But that’s perfectly normal. And I like it that way.
Fried is a second-year history student. E-mail her at
ifried@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to
viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.