This past Saturday marked the end of my Spring 2021 semester and the first official day of Summer break. I spent most of my weekend in the realm between R.E.M and slow-wave sleep, but in the few hours I was arguably conscious, I tried to reflect on what a bizarre semester it was. I say “tried” because frankly, I’ve been too tired to think until today. Two days ago, my brain wrapped itself in a thick layer of cling wrap, and the cling wrap is, well, clingy.
This semester was like a Rubik’s Cube, only a trick one that’s missing three essential pieces and turns out to be insoluble. It was a doozy filled with almost every obstacle imaginable: POTS, a historic snowstorm, a state-wide power crisis, a change in major, the transferring to a new university, entirely virtual school, and a pandemic (hence the virtual school.) I can’t believe I made it out alive, let alone retained any information. At this point, I think I can probably do anything now.
Except maybe work at Starbucks. That still sounds hard.
But as bizarre and challenge-filled as this semester was, I discovered I love working from home. Virtual classes rock for those who live in fussy, unreliable bodies like mine, and the option to attend lectures in my hammock more than makes up for all the awkward Zoom silences. For me, online school eliminated the physical challenge of getting to class, so I was able to use energy that would’ve otherwise been eaten up by POTS towards my studies. Overall, I’m amazed at how much I learned without leaving my house, and I thought online school was a creamy, indulgent sundae of upsides.
Moreover, as the world continues to reckon with covid-19, my professors seemed to have revived compassion for the disabling beast that is POTS. After a year of grappling with a novel virus, they could better grasp the concept of unpredictable health and had renewed empathy for how it feels to be unwell. My professors consistently encouraged me and all other students throughout the semester to prioritize our health and take care of ourselves. It was a relief to feel like we were all on the same page.
I’ll admit: at the beginning of the year, when I was gearing up for the semester, I envisioned flare after flare impeding on my studies. In the newness of January, I was mentally drafting the emails I’d write to my professors, filled with words like “unfortunately,” “emergency room,” and “extension.” I anticipated the stress of squeezing doctor’s appointments into my course schedule, and could already see my printer belching out wads of Doctor’s Notes. Gross.
This is the college experience I know. Luckily, my reality fell short of these expectations.
I had flares this semester, but they were fewer and far between. Sometimes I had to attend class from the couch, but my God, there are certainly worse things. As a transfer student, I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but for the other half, I actually did. Even though stress occasionally got the best of me, I managed. Despite it all, I managed.
In the final days of the semester, my professors surveyed each class, asking whether or not everyone was ready to return to school in person. Through my screen, I watched over a dozen heads bobble inside little Zoom rectangles. But my head felt frozen; I couldn’t get it to move.
Thinking about the fall semester fills me with equal part excitement as it does dread. I imagine it’s similar to what a hiker feels at the foot of Mount Everest. When I look up, I see the mountain of challenges waiting for me: the obstacles I’ve not yet navigated, the unforeseen obstructions in my path. I don’t yet know all that’s ahead, only that I’m certain it will require fortitude, courage, and an exhausting amount of strength.
That looming mountain makes the ground feel all the more comfortable. The grass has never felt softer, more inviting or plush. I feel pulled to stay, pitch a tent and stay a while. But if I did, I know I’d miss out on the thrill of the climb. And what about that breathtaking view?
