I’ve been thinking a lot about what learning looks like beyond the classroom. I’m not sure what I’m looking to equip myself with going into young adulthood that hasn’t been modeled in academics. How problem-solving plays out in not just the correct multiple-choice answer or paper outline, but a lifetime of experiences, satisfaction, or missed connections.
I’m grateful to my parents for the opportunity to earn a degree, their investment in pursuing the career of my choosing, and the wealth of knowledge a college setting provides. There’s something to be said for the rigorous academic game we play, but I know that college doesn’t seek to benefit students as people, of course, unless they return as generous alumni.
I love the sense of awe that comes with tackling course material until it clicks or expands my mental world, and the academic progress made within one semester blows my mind — I’ve achieved the goals I set for myself as a freshman who was too timid to even speak out loud, and then some. These reflections are valuable, but they push me to ask what else? Maybe I can take notes or pass a class, but how can I make sure I’m proud of my decisions, what are my hard lines, and what do I stand for?
Clearly, I’ve been itching for graduation and to become the version of myself who has already made countless decisions, life-altering or even simply choosing to be kind even if I think I’m too tired. Since last spring, I’ve been impatient to get out of the college bubble and learn by doing. Whether it’s work experience, listening to other people’s stories, or failing. Anything other than another grade. This is mirrored in my friends who had a taste of corporate life, and something shifted in their outlook on coursework and personal time, now having one foot in the college scene and the other out the door towards a nine-to-five. People said this time would fly, and it did, but I’m still surprised by this sense of outgrowing and burnout that would wash over me—like I’ve been walking around in shoes a size too small that have begun to blister—and it’s just a pain now to keep going.
Through work, I’ve been meeting many people with many different lives who happened to become a patient in the thick of it: some are quick to jump back into their bustle, or have lived a full life and spend their days recovering in reflection. Here are some scenes from a hospital:
– A son sitting with his father resting in bed, watching the Broncos before visiting hours end. The son is shy to ask the nurse about his treatment concerns and shifts on his feet while standing in the doorway. The son caresses his father’s cheek before having to leave.
– A woman asked to turn off the bed alarm so she can practice getting out of bed on her own and to her walker, stating, “No one is going to be there for me when I get home.” From her walker, she pulled out utility bills that needed to be called in and paid up after she gets back into bed.
-A brother came to pick up his older sister who stopped speaking. He cared for her well-being and managed her medical appointments. I helped her change out of the hospital gown as her brother and the nurse were bent over discharge papers, the brother taking notes on the new medications to understand.
– An older woman turns 90 in the hospital, telling me that she and her best friend look out for each other in old age. Their family has passed or moved away, and they stick together to go to doctor’s appointments and play jigsaw puzzles after a lifetime of community service. She loves to update their shared calendar that has a pocket for paper bills every month.
