Opinion
JENNIFER CALFAS
EDITOR IN CHIEF
AARICA MARSH
and DEREK WOLFE
EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS
LEV FACHER
MANAGING EDITOR
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4A — Thursday, September 10, 2015
I
will never sit in a cubicle. I will
never have to worry about the
finances of running a small
business, owning
a company car or
creating a presen-
tation for a board
meeting.
And
I will never have to worry about
these things and more if I continue
on my path toward medical school.
Those things make me happy. But
does my major?
When we were in third grade, our
teachers asked us the most important
question of our lives, “What do you
want to be when you grow up?” At the
time, I’m sure most of us answered
“astronaut” or something else that
sounded acceptable in the mind of an
eight-year-old. We didn’t realize just
how important that question actually
was or how long it might take to find
an answer.
In middle school, our perceptive
changed slightly to more realistic
careers such as becoming musicians,
authors and doctors, while high
school finely tuned our answers
even further to journalists, athletes
and surgeons once things became
more serious. Until senior year rolled
around and it was time to start filling
out college applications, I never once
looked back on my decision to attend
medical school.
And yet there I was, freezing on
the “concentration/major” box fill-
ing out the Common Application,
unable to move the mouse. Through
all the confusion, a question formed
at the forefront of my mind: Why
was I hesitating? Two years later,
I’d chalk it up to my subconscious
trying to tell my heart something
it didn’t want to accept: Maybe I
didn’t want to do biology. In that
moment, I felt like a child putting
their hands over their ears, repeat-
ing a mantra of lalalala to keep the
truth away. I was good at biology,
right? You needed a biology degree
to get into medical school, right? I
didn’t just need to take biology; I
needed to major in biology and love
biology if I wanted a shot at becom-
ing the doctor that I always envi-
sioned in my future. At least that’s
what I told myself when I hesitantly
typed “biology” into that little box.
“Do What You Want” is a chapter
in Amy Poehler’s novel “Yes Please.”
She essentially argues that to be
happy, we need to follow what we
want to do in life. As she goes on to
detail her early struggles as a rising
comedian in an unforgiving industry,
you can’t help but notice the great
success that came with her hard
work. Of course, all fans of “Satur-
day Night Live” and the ever-popular
series “Parks and Recreation” know
the name Amy Poehler, whether by
her sparkling identity or constant
enthusiasm as herself or her per-
sona, Leslie Knope. But only readers
of her novel can truly see the depths
of her love for work — not once in the
novel did I remember reading that
she was unhappy. Even as a comedy
nobody in a small Chicago improv
theatre, Poehler remarked that she
was incredibly happy with her new
“family.” Reading “Yes Please” was
not only a small piece of happiness to
feed the “Parks and Recreation” fan
inside of me, but also an educational
experience about life itself, especially
college life.
Do what you want, whatever
makes you happy, is an essential
piece of advice all students enter-
ing college should carry with them.
I had entered freshman year car-
rying the uncertainty of my con-
centration on my shoulders, and
I didn’t even know it. Biology was
something that I felt was neces-
sary to my success, not something
that was bringing me happiness.
Acceptance is the hardest part of
any failed relationship, and this
relationship was slowly but surely
becoming a one-way street. To
become happy in your work, some-
times you need to make the hard
decision to let go of things that have
become detrimental to your hap-
piness. Unfortunately, that might
mean breaking up with your major
if it just isn’t working for you.
When first-year requirements
dictated that foreign language was
required to graduate from LSA,
I became excited to once again
immerse myself in a topic I had
adored in high school. This was
especially so when Lorena, my
fabulous instructor, added an equal
mix of passion and fun to the lan-
guage that spurred me to partici-
pate actively in class once more. I
found myself excited to do home-
work and to attend class each day
again. I adored Spanish and came
to the simple and quick decision
that I would pursue a dual degree
with the language as my other
major, which ultimately led to the
rethinking of my entire concentra-
tion choices thus far. Eventually, I
gave myself an ultimatum: If biol-
ogy and Spanish were hanging off a
cliff, which would I jump for?
The answer was too simple, too
quick. I jumped for Spanish. And
immediately after I jumped, I called
my parents to let them know that,
although I was still pursuing medi-
cal school, I was going to double
major in BCN and Spanish and quit
biology. They understood almost
immediately, sensing my unhappi-
ness in biology in a way only parents
can while giving me various reas-
surances. Directly after, I unasham-
edly cried for an hour straight. But
they were happy tears, as I had final-
ly found an equal medium where I
could still envision myself as a pedi-
atrician, yet be happy as an under-
graduate studying exactly what I
wanted. I cannot wait to begin my
journey as a sophomore in my new
concentration, happy and interested
for the first time in a long time.
My point is, follow Amy Poehler’s
advice and do whatever you want
and what makes you ultimately
happy in life. Whether you’re a ris-
ing undergraduate or a new fresh-
man, never be afraid to pursue the
important things in life. Enjoy your
work, and you’ll create your own
happy future.
— Megan Mitchell can be
reached at umeg@umich.edu.
A long, winding journey
Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller,
Payton Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Adam Morton,
Victoria Noble, Michael Paul, Anna Polumbo-
Levy, Allison Raeck, Melissa Scholke, Michael
Schramm, Stephanie Trierweiler, Mary Kate
Winn, Jenny Wang, Derek Wolfe
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Do whatever you want
MEGAN
MITCHELL
S
ymbols of privilege: Canada
Goose, Sperrys, J. Crew and
Grey Goose. As a white male
from an upper-
middle-class sub-
urb attending an
elite
academic
institution, I am
living proof. Though we often asso-
ciate privilege with a specific race,
gender and socioeconomic status,
there are some forms of privilege
that aren’t as obvious as a silk shirt
or, quite frankly, a penis.
Superficially, I represent the
advantaged, but I also represent
the disadvantaged 1.6 percent of
the population that is openly gay
or lesbian. Yes, I, a member of the
“elite,” encounter abuse due to my
homosexuality even in Ann Arbor.
The University is ranked as one of
the nation’s most liberal college
institutions, yet I would argue that
the student culture subconsciously
remains homophobic, causing the
persecution of gays on campus to
appear somewhat invisible to the
naked eye.
My first encounter with homo-
sexual persecution at the Univer-
sity occurred before I was even a
student here, during the winter
of my senior year of high school
when I was admitted to Michigan.
To celebrate the acceptance into
my dream school, I asked a long-
time family friend, Adam — then
a sophomore at the University — if
I could come for the weekend and
(sorry, Mom) party. Friday night
I was ushered into an (unchaper-
oned!) apartment, given access to
all the alcohol I wanted and thrown
into a social scene unlike any lame
high school party I had been to.
Adam’s girlfriend and her friends
came over, and after pre-gaming
and getting acquainted with every-
body, we left for a house party. At
the house, I was again ushered into
a sweaty basement with a DJ, beer
pong and party lights. I partied as
any hot-shot senior in high school
would, standing quietly by the beer
pong table, pretending to be super
focused on the game to avoid talk-
ing to people.
The guy I was standing next
to at the table turned out to be an
exchange student from China. I
was interested in his experience as
an exchange student, so we talked
for a while. Not once did thoughts
regarding his sexuality cross my
mind; I was simply focused on
the conversation we were having.
I gave him my number for a rea-
son I can’t remember, maybe due
to my innocence, maybe due to
the impairment from the alcohol.
Again, I didn’t think anything of it.
After the conversation ended,
Adam replaced the exchange stu-
dent at the beer pong table. “Thank
God, I was getting worried there,”
he said in my ear. Confused, I
questioned what he meant. “You
guys were talking for a while,” he
accused. I immediately understood.
Adam had caught me completely
off guard. I’d had conversations
with guys before, but had never
experienced this kind of judg-
ment. After explaining to him that
the guy was an exchange student,
Adam then uttered, “You gave him
your number,” in an attempt to
prove my guilt.
We did not speak about the inci-
dent for the rest of the night, but as a
result, I became nervous and avoid-
ed other conversations with guys,
feeling my every move dissected by
Adam’s gaze. The next time I vis-
ited Adam, I didn’t dare speak to
other guys — only to groups with at
least one female present.
That night I was introduced to a
type of discrimination I had never
experienced before. I was expect-
ing some kind of eventual abuse
for my homosexuality at college,
but not this soon and not by such
a close friend. An action that I had
found so innocent — a conversation
about Asia and its culture with a
sophomore student from China —
was taboo just because that conver-
sation was with another man.
Throughout my freshman year
at the University, I have been sub-
jected to other subtle forms of hate
and discrimination due to my sexu-
ality. At my first frat party, I was
told the more girls I hooked up with
that night, the better chance I would
have in being admitted to that fra-
ternity. My roommate continually
questioned why I never brought a
girl back to spend the night and pres-
sured me to do so. A night out was
never complete unless you heard the
casual insult “homo” or “faggot” at
some party. Many of these offenders
fail to realize that they are oppress-
ing an entire community when they
make these “meaningless” comments
they forget to have said less than five
minutes later.
Homophobia has been internal-
ized by a large part of the University’s
culture, and students subconsciously
reveal it in ways that are still hurt-
ful. The conversation between Adam
and me was so quick, so discreet, but
it was one of the most meaningful
to me. Acts of discrimination, such
as Adam’s, are acts of microaggres-
sion, and they are less visible (and
even perceived as nonexistent) to
the student body. The oppression of
the homosexual community often
seems like an invisible one; preva-
lent, but conducted so accidentally or
thoughtlessly that it becomes naked
to the human eye. I am an upper
middle-class white male, and there-
fore I am part of the advantaged. But
I am also gay. Just because oppres-
sion is not visible to the majority of
the population does not mean it is
less significant.
— Daniel Dixon can be
reached at djdix@umich.edu.
You gave him your number
T
his past summer, while most Michi-
gan students interned, worked, trav-
eled or took classes, I climbed out of
a deep pit of emotional tur-
moil.
My
inner
equilibrium
initially faltered at the
end of last fall. As I
struggled through my pre-med classes and
extracurricular obligations, the anticipation
of returning home for Winter Break stood as
my only beacon of hope. Home life, though,
came with its own stressors: a strained
relationship with my brother, a lack of upkeep
with my high school friendships and the
dread of returning to Ann Arbor for another
soul-crushing semester. While at home, my
heart and soul began to spiral downward.
I kept asking myself, if I didn’t like being at
school and I didn’t like being at home, where
did I like to be?
As winter semester began, I noticed a heavy
feeling in my chest. I woke up each morning
dreading going through my day. I spent hours
lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, my
mind blank and my heart heavy. I lost interest
in the few enjoyable activities for which
I had made time in my otherwise-tedious
schedule. In the midst of feebly attempting
to pull myself together, my support system
disintegrated, due to an irreparable rift in my
group of close friends. Whatever small hope I
had held for a speedy recovery vanished.
As
humans,
we
are
evolutionarily
programmed to adapt. I do not believe feeling
permanently sad is possible; instead we
eventually become numb to our pain so that
we can go about our daily lives. By February, I
had fallen into a routine that kept my feelings
in check. Each day I would wake up, go to
class, nap, go to meetings, finish homework,
go to bed and repeat. The less thought
required in completing my day, the better.
Knowing that I needed help, I signed up
for a Counseling and Psychological Services
appointment, but felt wary of attending
weekly meetings devoted to discussing my
sadness. As my appointments continued and
the ground beneath me thawed, my heart and
mind followed suit. By the time my parents
came to pick me up in April, my full range of
emotions had returned and my mother and
father witnessed me collapse into a puddle
of tears. Unlike Riley’s situation in “Inside
Out,” though, my breakdown did not lead to
an immediate, happy Pixar ending. Instead,
that moment was the initial step down a long,
winding road of eventual recovery.
The first half of my summer seemed to
worsen my mental state. Rather than properly
studying for the MCAT as I had intended, I
would go to the library and my mind would
start to race. Each day I became increasingly
aware of my disinterest in pre-med life,
my disengagement from the University
community and my disconnection from the
social circles all around me. Unable to ignore
these thoughts, I postponed my MCAT to a
later date and opted to work the rest of the
summer as a camp counselor. For the first
time in months I rediscovered something
that I loved, and from that moment forward
the true recovery process began.
Being a camp counselor did what months of
therapy could not — it shifted my perspective
through firsthand experience. Instead of
waking up each day focusing on my own
problems, I woke up thinking about how to
best serve the needs of my campers. Instead
of celebrating my own moments of success, I
celebrated all the times my campers learned
something new or made a new friend. The
best part about camp was that all the usual
pressures from life did not exist. I was free to
be myself without worrying about doing well.
Instead of trying to outshine one another,
the entire camp community worked to shine
brightly together. The moment everything
clicked was when my campers and I went
on an evening motorboat ride together on
the lake. I’ll never forget our shrieks and
squeals as the driver accelerated full speed
across the water. We clung to each other over
every sharp turn while wind whipped our
hair and faces. I drank in the perfect evening
air and a thought popped into my head: this
was what it meant to be alive. Life was not
about comparing myself to others or aiming
for success purely for the sake of appearing
successful. Life was about doing what I loved
with people I loved.
For the rest of the summer, I turned this
epiphany over in my mind. Were the concepts
of enjoying life and achieving greatness
mutually exclusive? Did the road to happiness
necessitate giving up my dreams of becoming
a doctor? After much thought, I became
convinced that happiness and achievement
are both possible, as long as I push myself
for the right reasons. Medical school will be
difficult, but I just need to remember that I’m
going on this journey to help others, not to
boost my own image.
As I begin my senior year, I worry that I will
relapse into my previous stage of emptiness
and depression. However, I strongly believe
that if I surround myself with the right
people and do things that make me truly
happy, I will be able to push through the
tough times and achieve my dreams without
sacrificing my mental health. The University
is a challenging environment that puts many
students through tough mental roadblocks.
This place has knocked me down numerous
times, but I am determined to stand up once
more and walk across the finish line with a
smile on my face.
— Annie Humphrey can be reached
at annieah@umich.edu.
A NNIE
HUMPHREY
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DANIEL
DIXON
E-mail RachEl at Rdawson@umich.Edu
RACHEL DAWSON