Front Row Seat to Regret
UC Berkely campus. Photo by Georg Eiermann.
I was the oldest student in the auditorium and still too young to realise the opportunity I was squandering.
It was Native American History, taught by a brilliant professor whose name I should remember. This was UC Berkeley in the mid-2000s, and my shameless motto was “C’s get degrees.”
I proudly finished my undergraduate degree with mostly Bs and even a few As, but I wouldn’t recognise my great folly until years later.
I didn’t know I’d want to continue on to do a Master’s. A PhD, too. Or that the road would be considerably harder without attention paid to making connections, building healthy habits, and getting good grades.
My younger and much wiser friend knew it. He loved that class and insisted we sit in the front row. I insisted on crossword puzzles to help me concentrate. We sat together, he with his eyes up, hanging onto every word, and mine cast downward, head hung low.
With my unchecked anxiety, masking a neuro-something I still haven’t defined, I can’t blame myself for my seemingly petulant behaviour.
I recognise now how incredibly lucky I was to be there. And how insufferably rude I was to dismiss it. To the professor, to my friend, to everyone sitting behind me. And to the history I didn’t care enough to witness.
I wonder if anybody tried to say something to me during that time. Maybe I didn’t hear them.
I can’t say when my busy brain quieted enough to become more receptive to the world around it. But I know it started with someone lending me their attention and giving me space to think.
This story was first published on Medium on 1 February, 2024.
