As a fourth year, I’ve realized that even though we have what seems like 1700 libraries at the University, there are only so many places students can do work before the pattern starts to repeat itself.
First year, I settled into Clemons. It was a welcome change from the dining room table at my house back in Maryland, where my mom was cooking an interesting-smelling German dinner five feet away. It might have smelled about the same, though — there’s my obligatory eau-de-Clemons joke for the day.
Second year, my nerdy best friend and I had an easy routine of rotating living rooms to do work. We would look at each other after practice and know whose house we would be going to, usually based on who had most recently been grocery shopping and had the best snacks available. Surprisingly, we were somewhat productive during these sessions.
Third year, I entered my hip coffee shop phase. I’m not really sure where these motivations come from — it must be some sort of intrinsic, ridiculous goal-setting gene — but I stumbled upon the idea to choose a coffee shop with the best study atmosphere. With coffee shops as common as libraries in this town, I had found another obscure and difficult dream to chase. I made little progress during this cycle, as the majority of my time was spent researching coffee shops I had not been to, their Wi-Fi availability, and parking.
In my final year at the University I don’t want to say I’ve given up on pipe dreams. But yes, I’ve given up on pipe dreams. This year has been one of my toughest academically, and I’ve realized that the place I’m studying does not actually matter in the slightest. I used to be picky. I used to want large windows to let in natural light to keep my spirits up. I wanted a quiet area, but one that was still decently populated so I could watch the couple sitting next to each other, not speaking, playing on two separate iPads when I got bored. I demanded that there be coffee within easy reach, as it was probably going to be a late night. But now, the places I study reveal my fourth-year maturity. I’ve cleaned my room, taken the dirty dishes, crumpled papers and dried-up pens off my desk, and actually sat down to do work. For the past two years my desk has served as little more than decoration and a place to hold things I don’t want to throw away just yet. But now I have realized that the time wasted trying to find a place to study was a privilege. I come home, I make a sandwich, and I sit at my desk and get work done. The transformation is incredible. I’ve gained at least 30 minutes a night in study time and also am saving a bunch of money on fancy lattés.
It is a little sad that I have lost the naïveté of previous school years. But it is also comforting to know that after three years I’ve found my study niche. Maybe I’m creating a metaphor here that shouldn’t be created, but in my wave of fourth-year sentimentality I’m going to cherish these last few months at my desk. Because in May, I’ll be moving out — and who knows the next time I’ll sit at that same desk, hating my workload but loving the University that is making me do it.
Simone’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at s.egwu@cavalierdaily.com.
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