W

hen I first started applying to colleges,
I was often amazed by the number
of choices available at every school.
There were so many majors, so many classes, so
many student organizations — the world seemed
to be my oyster. Michigan seemed to dominate
in this realm, and I came to school here for this
very reason. However, it wasn’t just the sheer size
of their programs; it was the fact that U-M was
nationally ranked in seemingly every single one of
them. They also had schools dedicated to special
topics, such as the School of Information, whose
classes usually would be tucked into a computer
science major at another school.
Although I knew I wanted a good combination
of quantitative and qualitative elements — some
math and some writing — I hadn’t settled on an
exact field of study. I was a young student in the
College of Literature, Science and the Arts, and
I was comforted by its offering of 85 majors and
more than 100 minors. There were also 14 other
schools within Michigan that I could apply to,
and with Michigan having strengths in both the
sciences and humanities, there didn’t seem to be
a bad option.
However, this freedom of choice was just an
illusion once put to the test. I soon realized that
taking one class meant I couldn’t take another, and
that going down one major path meant I blocked
off a different route. Each of those 14 schools had
prerequisite classes I had to take before I could
apply. Even though I would’ve only applied to
maybe three of them, that still meant at least three
prerequisite classes for each school. There was no
way I could fit those in my schedule, while also
fulfilling distribution requirements, and still be
on track to graduate on time.
Given I was constrained with a “budget” of only
18 credits (about four classes) a semester, I had to
figure out which classes within those 18 credits
offered me the best balance of enjoyment, workload
and need. I soon had to learn which classes I could
afford to give up in order to take another, more
interesting class. I couldn’t have my cake and eat
it too; I had to make trade-offs between choices,
and hopefully make the choice that gave me the
greatest benefit.
For example, math eventually became a situation
where the skills I gained paled in comparison to the
suffering it caused. I didn’t really have an interest

in taking math beyond upper-level calculus. When
I first started, math offered me enough benefit (I
could then major in Economics or other majors
with math as a prerequisite) that it was worth the
present sacrifice. However, at a certain point, the
pain from taking math classes vastly outweighed
the potential benefit that the cost outweighed the
gain — the equivalent of negative marginal utility

in economics. Thus, I closed myself off to any
potential math majors, as well as statistics.
I also learned that I had no desire to write papers
all day, as I had originally thought when writing
my college applications. I wanted to be a historian
or a diplomat when I was in high school, but after
recognizing I would never learn another language
— I had taken 14 years of Spanish classes without
achieving fluency — I closed these paths off as well.
My original wealth of options was getting smaller
and smaller by the day, and the joy I felt in having

so many choices turned to anxiety.
All this time, my intended major was staring
me straight in the face, but I refused to recognize
it. The mental calculations I kept making, the
realizations I had, all pointed straight down the
path of economics. I was already thinking like an
economist with the daily internal machinations I
conducted, and it was only a natural step to devote
most of my coursework to it.
I could also say it was destiny; my mother and
sister were both economics majors (the latter at
Michigan), and I grew up being quite familiar
with terms like marginal cost, utility and
scarcity. But, in economics parlance, the choice
to follow my mother and sister’s footsteps also
maximized the utility I received from picking a
major.
There would be a substantial math component,
but also a chance to do plenty of writing, building
both my analysis and data handling skills. While
I wouldn’t learn another language, I would get
to see how different countries interact in the
international economy, and how their cultures
affect their relationship with the rest of the
world. I would get to learn plenty of history, but
also mix it with a lot of data. In short, I would get
the real-world application with the knowledge of
theory I craved.
Majoring in an LSA department also gave
me the chance to have that full liberal arts
experience I desired when I was in high school.
I’ve had the chance to analyze paintings in my
French art history class, read articles about what
it means to be an empire, take (another) semester
of Spanish, and experience my first real coding
class. Because the economics major requires
fewer credits than many of the other majors I
considered, I also have the chance to enhance my
degree with a minor. In the course of fulfilling
distributions, I might also get the chance to study
abroad, and therefore travel outside North America
for the first time.
In a field of study defined by making tough
decisions between two options, majoring in
economics at the expense of something else
ironically didn’t create a trade-off for me. I could —
despite the strict bounds of rational choice — have
all the things I wanted in my college experience,
and even get to explore all those choices which
initially bedeviled me.

Wednesday, October 9, 2019 // The Statement
2B

Managing Statement Editor

Andrea Pérez Balderrama

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Managing Editor

Finntan Storer
statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | OCTOBER 9, 2019

BY ALEXANDER COTIGNOLA, STATEMENT COLUMNIST

Contradicting economics,
with economics

y=mx+b
^2^”All
this time my
intended major
was staring me
straight in the
face, but i refused
to recognize
it.”c^2=b
^2+a^2