As new Stanford freshmen, so many of us are accustomed to being the “go-to” students for homework help, the ones who started clubs and led events, the “big fish” in our high school ponds. Many of us have had a position of authority or an authoritative sense of knowledge in some field, whether a language, a sport, a social issue or the happenings of our schools. We have learned the ins and outs of the institutions and cultures in which we were raised. In our hometowns, we can answer questions, give directions and impart wisdom to our younger siblings and friends.
Just over a month ago, so much of that accumulated expertise was rendered irrelevant. No one really cares about how to get A’s in our old high schools’ hardest classes or which sandwiches they should order at our local delis. Of course, much of our knowledge and skills are still valuable; they have equipped us for personal success and contributions to the world. But in whatever we excelled or claimed authority, we perceive that someone else on campus is equally, if not more, informed and accomplished.
Part of adjusting to Stanford is learning to navigate those elements of daily life that were second nature in our hometowns — where and when to eat, optimal routes, tips and tricks for choosing a schedule. But an important psychological component of adjustment is losing our “big fish” status. For those of us who graduated just last year, it may feel jarring to start the school year without the pursuits and roles that characterized many of our high school careers.
It’s easy to fear the transition from know-it-all high school seniors to confused college freshmen. But instead, we should look to an incredible set of resources to help embrace it — the diversity of the people around us. With “spotlights” on my SPOT trip, I had intently listened to the life stories of people from various regions, religions, family structures and aspirations. Before even moving into my dorm, I had huddled in tents and heard about an array of my friends’ experiences, from identifying as LGBTQ in a conservative community to dealing with crazy Catholic school teachers.
Some official Stanford programming, such as Faces of Community and Beyond Sex Ed, has also exposed us to a range of our classmates’ narratives, evoking powerful emotions even when we have not personally shared the experiences discussed. The diversity of my dorm and my classes provides exciting and ongoing learning opportunities. For the past few weeks, I have gone about my daily life with new friends from California and Kansas, Honduras and Jordan, New York and New Zealand and everywhere in between. I have sat down to a 15-minute breakfast and left with both imagery of the rural Midwest’s perfectly clear sky and an overview of thorny air quality disputes between Singapore and Malaysia. Before heading to bed, I hear about the feminist themes in my friend’s favorite 17th-century poem, tidbits of insight interspersed between spits of toothpaste. Cynics will dismiss diversity as a buzzword, but I see it as a way to appreciate, rather than lament the newfound absence of knowledge and authority that being a Stanford freshman entails.
When I hear my new friends’ stories from home, I know that I will never live their childhoods. I will never have expertise in their cultures. But I am intrigued as they talk about their traditions; I smile as they share their hometowns’ quirks. With absolutely none of my own knowledge on the subject, I simply listen in fascination. For those who have internalized the expectation that we can and must say something valuable at all times, exposure to the entirely unknown feels freeing. Learning without the pressure to speak, without anyone looking to me for an answer and without a class participation grade, is an essential educational opportunity.
In addition to learning about my peers in the Stanford community, I have found that listening to others’ narratives allows me to practice the open-mindedness and modesty that are crucial to adjusting as a freshman. When we talk to people from other backgrounds, we perceive a glimpse into new traditions and ideas that we might not have otherwise encountered. We can be grateful for the access to other perspectives that a diverse community provides, rather than regretting that there are some experiences we will never have and will never fully understand. Similarly, instead of feeling destabilized if we lose the sense of expertise that characterized our high school careers, we can find excitement in absorbing an unfamiliar new world, with no pressure on us to offer answers or guidance. And rather than feeling inadequate for knowing less, we should appreciate the opportunity to learn from those who know more.
Finally, it is easy to forget that our own backgrounds — however unexceptional they may seem — are someone else’s unknown. The norms of my hometown and high school are no longer common to everyone in my environment, making me a source of authority on something I never realized could be taught. There is a confidence boost in recognizing that no one can match our knowledge in the subject of our own identities. We may not be the “big fish” anymore, but we still have value to add to the community, simply by sharing stories from our ponds.
Contact Courtney Cooperman at ccoop20 ‘at’ stanford.edu.