May 2006

The end of my third bachelor’s degree looms. It will be the first one I’ll finish. For five years, I’ve been hopping from course to course, getting mediocre grades and being a just-good-enough, uninspired boy.

For what? I now ask myself. And what now?

I don’t know.

Apply for a master’s degree that supposedly ties in with my bachelor’s?
Okay, that question gives me a dead feeling in the chest.
Get a full-time job?
Fantastic idea, but where exactly? And with what story? ‘Yeah, so hi, hello, I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know what I’m capable of, and I don’t know what I want. But look, here’s my degree!’

It’s an uncomfortable realisation, but really, it’s not a realisation. This moment’s been coming since before I started studying. The only difference is the location of that gaping hole: right in front of me instead of beyond the horizon.

For a few weeks, anxiety and occasional bouts of fear mark my days, and then, suddenly, there’s resolve.

I’m not going to leave this path dissatisfied. There must be a way to turn this around for the better.

There’s no pushing; the decision’s just there. It’s not too late to take ownership of my learning.

On a sunny Spring day, I start scavenging for classes that fascinate me and seem fun. Before long, I have a list that enthuses me. The thing is, I’m not ‘qualified’ for any of it. And the other thing is, I’m not going to let that stop me. I contact the professors of every class on the list. Each responds with the same message: ‘If your exam board approves, you’re welcome to join.’

Fired up, I submit a request, to which the exam board promptly replies, ‘Your request goes against these and those rules and can therefore not be approved.’

Yeah, figures. This always happens when I—

Hey, wait a minute…

Is what they’re saying true?

I find a university regulation book and quickly discover that ‘these and those rules’ don’t exist. I submit a notice of objection, which the exam board promptly rejects, again basing itself on rules without foundation.

I’m not through yet. I discover there’s a Board for the Appeal of Exams, a kind of university ‘Supreme Court’. I write a letter stating my case, which never makes it to a hearing. A week before the start of the new university year, almost four months after my first request to the exam board, I receive a short and simple letter. ‘We see no reason to reject your request and wish you all the best in following the programme you have composed for yourself.’

Thus begins what will become my most fun year in school ever. For the first time, learning feels like a privilege instead of a burden. For the first time, the grades I’m getting—the highest ever—are a sign of enthusiasm instead of obedience or rage. As the year progresses, my sense of empowerment grows. I can go for something that feels alive, even when others say I can’t.

Eighteen months later I graduate with honours.

The world’s my oyster.

If I want something, I can get it.

Let’s go.