"What are Finals?"

First of all, let me admit that I often think I’m the smartest person ever. Usually, this happens when I’m finishing up a somehow-intelligent paper 15 minutes before it’s due. Other times, I think I’m the dumbest person in the world.

This happens when I discover in the morning that at some point in the previous night, I got Rally’s. Most of the time I feel somewhere in between smart and dumb.

Working on challenging schoolwork is generally when I feel smart. Finals week is the week to remind us school isn’t supposed to be easy.

I don’t want to write about how academic rigor is one of the foundational tenants of the college experience (because if it were, you probably wouldn’t be on Facebook during a lecture).

I want to write about how just a little bit of scholarly masochism might be good for us. Let’s stretch ourselves thin about belated readings and last-second papers. Let’s push ourselves to the limit for classes we probably don’t care about. Let’s punch out the last pages of a paper we can’t bear to think about anymore.

Let’s do it with a smile.If your instructors are worth half their dismal salary, your exam or paper or project or whatever will be good for you.

I know this is the lamest column I’ve ever written, and I know I’ve written about the identity politics of bros and hipsters. Hear me out: Writing that final paper is always more important than going out tonight.

Not because your future depends on good grades but because your soul does.

There’s something to be gained from a university other than its prevalence of weed and booze. For instance, learning is something important. If we could just drop our entitlement, we would figure out that our education figures into our everyday lives (personally, politically, theoretically, emotionally – that’s a “Love In This Club” reference).

Finals aren’t supposed to be fun. They’re supposed to teach you something about yourself and the course material you didn’t know before. I hate finals. I love finals. They’re the best of the times. They’re the worst of times.

I believe in half of what it says half of the time, and you should too. Use my advice sparingly or constantly during the next hellish week.

School is my favorite and least favorite thing, so I’m writing the last intelligence out of my brain before it melts away into a hazy summer.

 I promise, as long as you actually help yourself learn something from it, all the hard work will be rewarding.

— ptbeane@indiana.edu