by Stephanie Joynes

Created on: August 25, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

When I was accepted into a Master's program at the University of Chicago, I honestly thought they had made an error. They must have confused me with somebody else. Yes, I did visit the school, and I made an appointment with the head of the program. And yes, I did have a focused application reflecting exactly what I wanted to do during my time at the school. Apparently, that kind of obsessive compulsive behavior is exactly what the University of Chicago looks for in a candidate. It is, after all, where the fun goes to die.

When I met the other people in my program we all thought we should be wearing monogrammed blazers with the emblem embroidered on the pocket. We were now in a new league. More Nobel prizes than Harvard, and the focused nerdiness and commitment that only could be found in Hyde Park. We could geek out together and it was completely acceptable, if not encouraged.

My coursework included several hundred pages of reading and aggressive philosophical thought. I would rotate libraries where I would do my reading, just so I wouldn't fall asleep and I could stretch out. I bounced from the Reg to Harper to the fresh air on the Quad. My favorite was a small little reading room in the Oriental Institute. A friend of a friend told me about it, and as I found my way to the third floor I noticed ten students reading in pure silence. I was embarrassed when I realized my highlighter made a screechy noise as I used it across my reading of a Marxist interpretation of a French village in the 19th century.

Yes, I studied. I embraced my inner geek and tried to absorb as much as I possibly could during my anthropology classes. I went to powwows in the city, visited the Field Museum and the Institute of Art. I tried to imagine the Chicago World's Fair in 1893 on the Midway. I listened to beautiful hymns at Christmas in Rockefeller Chapel. When I thought my brain couldn't handle any more I sought solace at The Pub in the Theology Building, or take a moment in the quiet stillness of Bond Chapel.

The program was aggressive and as I was in it, I changed as well. My commitment to academics was challenged. My professors pushed me, and I was thankful to learn from their experience. My closest friend and I would leave class glazed over saying to each other, "What I really need now is lip gloss and a Cosmopolitan magazine". The superficial things easily drifted away when we were asked difficult questions about the real world in which we lived.

It was easy to burn out in such an academic community, and I'm not sure I could've had my undergraduate experience there. I wouldn't have had the focus, the drive, or the serious academic aggressiveness need to succeed. I would have been too immature and easily distracted. But my time at the University of Chicago was imperative to the person I am today, and for that I am grateful.

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