Two things happened this past week to make me think twice about over preparing or planning ahead. The first of those things had to do with the weather and the second, with one of my classes. Last Sunday, I thought to save time during the week by checking the weather forecast for Monday to Friday in advance and noting if I would need to use an umbrella on any of those days. The forecast predicted that there would be rain on Thursday and Friday, and I stored this information in the back of my mind.
When Thursday came, however, I had totally forgotten that it was going to rain. I took neither my large nor small umbrella, wore Converses instead of boots, picked out a thin hoodie, and made my way to the SAC for breakfast. I left pretty early in the morning so I did not see many people until my first class. When I saw that others were wearing boots, I cursed myself for my forgetfulness. Hopefully, it won’t be raining when I head back to my dorm, I thought to myself.
There was only light rain during the day so I managed to get to all of my classes without being totally drenched, and I was hopeful that the rain would cease by midnight. After my last class, I grabbed dinner and went to study in the library.
At closing time, or midnight, I glanced out of the windows and noticed dark puddles shimmering on the ground, so I went to the commuter lounge, where I studied for two more hours, waiting for the rain to stop. Finally, I decided to call the Stony Brook ride service. I was put on hold three times and waited for a total of eleven minutes for the person on the other end to request three pieces of information from me: my current location, my student ID number, and where I wanted to be dropped off. I asked him how long it would take for a ride to arrive at the SAC bus stop, and he replied that it was impossible for him to tell, but advised me to head to the bus stop immediately.
Against my better judgment, I packed up my stuff and went outside. I waited for fifteen minutes at the bus stop in a three-walled compartment that afforded meager protection from the wind and rain. No ride showed up. I took out a book and continued reading under the dim light of the bus stop for another fifteen minutes, but my fingers began to freeze so I stashed the book away and stuffed my hands into my pockets. A while later, I perceived a small white van approaching, and I stood up expectantly. When it got nearer, though, I discerned from the wording on the side of the vehicle that it was a limousine. It pulled up to the curb and three girls stepped out in high heels, laughing, and made their way to the parking lot.
I sank back down on the bench and waited some more. I tried calling the ride service multiple times, but each time, I received a busy signal. I ran to the nearest building (Engineering, for I knew the SAC was closed), and tried gaining entrance to keep from freezing, but all the doors were locked. I dashed back to the bus stop, feeling even colder and incredibly foolish. I cursed myself for not leaving the library earlier to catch a bus, but then reflected that returning to my suite before midnight meant putting up with the incessant ruckus of my suitemates. Finally, I decided to abandon my post and walk to my dorm.
Earlier that day, I had finished a take-home exam, which was the second cause of that week’s distress. The midterm was not originally supposed to be a take-home. The professor, as it turned out, had informed only a handful of students after class one day that they could use three pages of notes for the exam, so to be fair to all, he decided to make the exam, which was to count for 30% of our final grade, a take-home.
Unlike many of the other students, I was greatly frustrated by my professor’s announcement because if I had known that he allowed students to use cheat sheets, I a) would not have pulled an all-nighter; b) would not have skipped an earlier class to polish my notes; and c) would have studied in a more productive way. That is, instead of memorizing pages of notes, I would have spent time rereading and trying to better understand difficult passages. Also, I was irked about the advantage that students who had not thoroughly prepared for the exam would now receive.
I was totally opposed to the idea of cheat sheets; it seemed so “high school” and not at all what I expected from an upper-division course. If groups of students get together and create cheat sheets to use during the exam, then how can the exam be a true measure of each student’s understanding? Moreover, cheat sheets do not prepare students for the real world, where one can rely only upon oneself – a fact that I was reminded of at the bus stop. In short, I felt that I had prepared too much for the exam and that no small part of that preparation was for naught.
Like other collegiettes, I do not often have the time to over prepare for classes or for anything else, so when I do go the extra mile and meet with unsatisfying and discouraging results, I cannot help feeling averse to over preparation. The worst part about over preparing is the sense one gets of the missed opportunities to do other things.
Arriving at my dorm early Friday morning, my first instinct led me to swear to be an “under preparer” from now on. But that was simply a passional response; in reality, it would take much more for me to swerve completely from my habits. Small changes, though, may be beneficial. It is, perhaps, better to consider the weather one day at a time. Moderation, even at the expense of efficiency, is worthwhile if it leads to peace of mind.