It seems that, for many, sophomore year is something like waking up on a Sunday afternoon with hazy recollections of an alcohol-drenched weekend. As sophomores stagger from the surreal honeymoon suite of freshman year and squint into the not-so-sophomoric light of reality, they tend to react poorly, little wonder upon closer inspection. The structured chaos of PRE, Orientation, and Rush has faded into the chaotic freedom of a second year at college, and that freedom brings with it new struggles. The opening year’s charge may have stumbled into a tentative plod (“slump”), but the odyssey is far from over, and getting to our respective Ithacas is no easy matter. Unfortunately, with the moorings of the freshman tutorial period slashed, sophomores often find themselves adrift in Sewanee’s own Aegean Sea, seemingly bereft of navigational equipment as college’s “real” responsibilities loom; there are GPA’s to bolster (or resurrect), majors to declare, summers to plan, life questions to ponder (or maybe “answer”), and meaningful friendships (and romances) to find, maintain, or sort out. Even the etymology word “sophomore” implies maladjustment, as the original collegiate model (Cambridge’s now archaic three years) didn’t even include it as a title, using only “Freshman,” “Junior Sophister,” and “Senior Sophister.” Alas, what is a sophomore to do? I, being but a lowly sophomore myself, can’t rightly say, but I can (quite unfairly) divide myself and my classmates into three unflattering categories that represent what one probably should not do: the prodigal (ostriches), the pretentious (one-year wonders), and the paralyzed (the undecided)
First on this questionable list are “the prodigal,” and if college is an odyssey, then they haven’t made it out of the Land of the Lotus-Eaters. Simply put, they “want to go to college for the rest of their lives.” You know them; they are the people who still believe that drunken exploits count towards some sort of graduation requirement, the guys and girls who have adopted Asher Roth lyrics as an unspoken (quasi-religious) life creed. Their average nightly BAC rises, and their GPA’s fall, but they aren’t too concerned on account of the “dank weed” they just scored (possibly using book money or the remnant of an Adderall prescription). They are the great deniers, the ostriches of the sophomore class. Rather than begrudgingly confess (like the rest of us….in theory) that college is actually something more than an unsupervised party with a $200,000 cover fee, they bury their heads in the sand of Sewanee’s party scene (which, if you were curious, smells strongly of vodka and lost dignity). However, although these collegiate somnambulists may have wasted (literally and figuratively) a few of their semesters at Sewanee, all is far from lost, and with some newfound motivation and maturity, even former ostriches can take flight if they so choose. Have a real conversation with upperclassmen you respect, bond with your professors, get involved, and get moving!
Lying at the polar end of the sophomore spectrum are “the pretentious,” the self-assured ivory tower dwellers (often freshly gowned) who think of themselves as associate professors after only a year of college. When I think of such people (myself included much more than I’d care to admit), I am reminded of the term “90-day-wonders (blunders),” an insult used ever since World War II to mock newly commissioned officers who had spent only three months in officer training school, rather than four years at a military academy. These officers, save for the most humble, were almost uniformly despised by academy graduates (and their enlisted men, no doubt) for their unmerited sense of self-importance. Like those green officers, some sophomores fall prey to the siren’s song of “1-year-wonder syndrome” in their rush to be perceived as intelligent and respectable. Having “mastered” two semesters of courses (and possibly pledgeship), they begin to think of themselves as veterans, sinking into a marsh of hubris. They haughtily refer to their “freshman lives” in the same way an old sage might reflect on his childhood. In their arrogance, they frequently regard others (even upperclassmen) as inferiors or rivals, and some are all too happy to impose their unsolicited advice on any freshman caught within earshot. However, rather than sounding wise and mature, this sort of sophomore tends to sound patronizing and self-important, probably to even the most doe-eyed freshmen. Fortunately, Sewanee does tend to purge its underclassmen of this smugness naturally (in the classroom or in the fraternity house), but if, in a moment of self-awareness, you notice these characteristics in yourself, just remember that, while you may have prospered thus far, you have yet to earn your true stripes (and battle scars).
Finally, we have our indecisive brothers and sisters, “the paralyzed.” Like Dante’s woeful undecided outside the gates of Hell, some sophomores find themselves full of nervous energy, yet dismayed by the hardships of choice; they chase banners but never seem to take a stand. Worse still, now that the administration has stopped guiding their hands, these existing anxieties are magnified. They ruminate on academic decisions for hours (yes, these are the same people who applied to 26 colleges and filled out a Coast Guard recruiter’s questionnaire “just to be safe”), obsess over the “right” GPA and course selection for graduate schools, and make sure to remind their friends that they “have no idea what they are majoring in.” These folks lie somewhere between the ostriches and the one-year-wonders; they are (overly) conscious of the importance of their sophomore year, yet this knowledge generates self-doubt rather than over-confidence. Instead of digressing into an uninspired (and poorly informed) discourse on existentialism, I advise only this; trust yourself to choose! You have the rest of your life to sort out a career (and several more semesters to modify a major), so study what you love now, and let the chips fall where they may.
Well, all stereotyping, base humor, and potentially spurious advice aside, I will close with one final thought about making it past the “sophomore slump.” I think it comes back to love. I hope that you fell in love with Sewanee during freshman year as I did and want to stay here for four years (if not, why torture yourself? transfer!), but as common marital wisdom teaches, good relationships take work. Lust will starve a relationship, just as surely as abuse will destroy it. Don’t abuse Sewanee by ignoring academics and service opportunities in favor of your own temporary gratification, and don’t lust after the vain glory of winning academic awards and outscoring friends on tests; love Sewanee by devoting your whole self to the community. As my slightly modified (stolen and possibly perverted) Kubrick title advocates, stop worrying and love. You reap what you sow, and Sewanee is the finest sort of soil. Invest both your heart and mind in it, and I’d wager that you won’t be disappointed by the return.
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