The College Class That Taught Me More About Myself Than the Subject
We’ve all been there—hovering over a course catalog, scrolling through class descriptions, and impulsively signing up for something that sounds vaguely interesting. Sometimes it works out. Other times, it feels like a slow-motion train wreck. For me, that train wreck had a name: Advanced Theoretical Physics for Non-Majors.
Let me set the scene. It was my sophomore year of college, and I was a psychology major with a side interest in astronomy. I’d always loved stargazing and reading about space, so when I saw a physics class labeled “theoretical concepts for curious minds,” I thought, Why not? The course description promised “no prior math required” and “accessible explorations of black holes, relativity, and quantum mechanics.” It sounded like a fun way to fulfill a science credit without drowning in equations.
Spoiler alert: It was not.
The Harsh Reality of “Accessible” Physics
The first red flag should’ve been the syllabus. Week one: “Introduction to Differential Equations.” Wait, what? I re-read the course description. “No prior math required” had a tiny asterisk. At the bottom of the page, in font size 8: “Basic calculus recommended.” As someone whose math skills peaked in high school algebra, I felt a pang of dread. But I’d already paid the tuition, and dropping the class meant losing money. So, I stayed.
By week three, I was lost. The professor—a brilliant astrophysicist with zero patience for beginners—spoke about spacetime like it was a casual coffee chat. Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out why time dilation wasn’t just a sci-fi trope. The “accessible” lectures felt like listening to someone explain advanced knitting techniques in Mandarin.
Group discussions were worse. My classmates included engineering students and a philosophy major who’d minored in applied mathematics. While they debated Schrödinger’s cat with gusto, I scribbled frantic notes, hoping something would stick. The only thing I learned? How to nod thoughtfully while secretly Googling terms under the desk.
The Cost of Overconfidence
Why did I stick with it? Pride, mostly. Admitting defeat felt like failing, and I didn’t want to be “that person” who dropped a class after two weeks. But my stubbornness came at a price. The hours I spent trying to decipher lecture slides cut into time for my core psychology courses. My GPA dipped, and stress levels soared.
The breaking point came during midterms. The exam featured a problem about calculating the gravitational pull between two neutron stars. I stared at the page, realizing I hadn’t just missed a few lectures—I’d missed the entire foundation of the subject. I handed in a half-blank test and left the room feeling defeated.
The Silver Linings (Yes, There Were a Few)
Surprisingly, the class wasn’t a total loss. For one, it taught me humility. Struggling so publicly—and so intensely—forced me to confront my limits. I learned to ask for help, whether from tutors, patient classmates, or YouTube explainers. (Shoutout to the YouTuber who compared quantum superposition to choosing between two bad Tinder dates. You’re a hero.)
It also reshaped how I approach challenges. Instead of assuming I could “figure it out later,” I started planning ahead. I began previewing syllabi more carefully, emailing professors with questions, and acknowledging when a class wasn’t the right fit. Most importantly, I learned that quitting isn’t always failure—sometimes, it’s just smart resource management.
Lessons for Future Course Selection
Looking back, here’s what I wish I’d considered before enrolling:
1. Read the Fine Print
If a class requires “recommended” skills you don’t have, proceed with caution. A vague prerequisite can hide a mountain of unspoken expectations.
2. Talk to Former Students
A quick conversation with someone who took the class could’ve revealed the professor’s teaching style or the workload’s intensity.
3. Audit Before Committing
Many colleges let students sit in on a lecture or two before enrolling. Use this to gauge whether the material (and the instructor’s approach) aligns with your level.
4. Know When to Walk Away
Staying in a mismatched class out of pride wastes time, money, and energy. It’s okay to prioritize your goals—and your sanity.
Regret as a Teacher
Do I regret signing up for that physics class? Absolutely. But I also recognize its value. That semester taught me more about self-awareness and resilience than any “easy A” ever could. It forced me to ask hard questions: What am I actually passionate about? Where do I want to invest my energy?
In the end, my biggest takeaway wasn’t about black holes or quantum theory. It was about the importance of aligning choices with purpose—and the courage to admit when something isn’t working. So, if you’ve ever enrolled in a class that left you baffled, overwhelmed, or secretly Googling during lectures, know this: You’re not alone. And sometimes, the worst academic decisions make the best life lessons.
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