The College Class That Taught Me More About Myself Than the Subject
We’ve all been there—sitting in a lecture hall or classroom, staring at the syllabus, and thinking, “Why did I sign up for this?” For me, that moment arrived during my sophomore year of college when I enrolled in a philosophy course titled “Existentialism and the Human Condition.” At the time, it sounded intriguing. The course description promised deep discussions about freedom, meaning, and authenticity. As someone who loved literature and psychology, I imagined thought-provoking debates and soul-searching reflections. What I didn’t anticipate was how wildly unprepared I’d feel, how disconnected the material would seem from my goals, and how much it would teach me about trusting my instincts.
The Allure of Intellectual Curiosity
Let’s rewind to registration day. My academic advisor had encouraged me to explore interdisciplinary courses to “broaden my horizons.” Philosophy seemed like a natural fit. I’d enjoyed ethics discussions in high school and admired public intellectuals who tackled big questions. Existentialism, with its focus on individual purpose and existential angst, felt relevant to my own uncertainties about career paths and identity. Plus, the professor had stellar reviews on RateMyProfessors.com. “Challenging but life-changing!” one comment read. Sold.
The Reality Check
The first warning sign arrived during the syllabus overview. The reading list included dense texts by Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Sartre, and de Beauvoir—philosophers I’d heard of but never engaged with directly. Each week required 80–100 pages of primary sources, plus secondary analyses. As an English major, I was no stranger to heavy reading, but philosophy proved different. Paragraphs stretched for pages, arguments twisted like labyrinths, and terms like “phenomenology” and “Dasein” left me Googling definitions mid-lecture.
Class discussions were another hurdle. While some students eagerly dissected Heidegger’s concept of “being-toward-death,” I struggled to articulate my thoughts. My contributions felt shallow compared to classmates who’d taken multiple philosophy courses. The professor, though passionate, had a teaching style that assumed prior familiarity with the subject. When I asked for clarification, his responses were cryptic: “Ah, but what does it mean to truly understand?” I left each session more confused than inspired.
The Growing Sense of Regret
By midterms, my regret had solidified. The course wasn’t just difficult—it felt irrelevant to my academic and career goals. As an aspiring writer, I’d hoped philosophy would deepen my understanding of human motivation. Instead, I found myself drowning in abstract theories that seemed detached from real-life applications. The pressure to perform well (thanks to my perfectionist tendencies) clashed with my lack of interest. Every essay I wrote felt like pulling teeth, and my grades reflected my disengagement.
Worse, the class consumed time I could’ve spent on courses I genuinely cared about. While peers in creative writing workshops shared stories and bonded over feedback, I was alone in the library, annotating Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason at 2 a.m. The irony? The existentialists’ central theme—finding meaning in a chaotic world—resonated deeply with my own struggles, but the delivery felt alienating.
Lessons Learned the Hard Way
I finished the course with a mediocre grade and a bruised ego. But in hindsight, it taught me invaluable lessons:
1. Know Your Limits (and Interests)
Signing up for classes solely because they “sound interesting” can backfire if they don’t align with your strengths or goals. I learned to audit syllabi more critically and ask: Will this challenge me in a way that matters? Does it connect to my larger aspirations?
2. It’s Okay to Walk Away
Midway through the semester, I considered dropping the class. Fear of appearing unserious kept me enrolled. Now, I wish I’d prioritized mental health over pride. College is about growth, not endurance tests.
3. Not All Growth Feels Good
Though I hated every moment, grappling with complex texts improved my analytical skills. Struggling to keep up humbled me and revealed gaps in my critical thinking—a wake-up call to approach future challenges more thoughtfully.
4. Passion Trumps Prestige
I’d chosen the class partly because the professor was “renowned.” But a prestigious name doesn’t guarantee a fulfilling experience. Today, I prioritize instructors who prioritize teaching over reputation.
Turning Regret into Reflection
Years later, I’ve made peace with that philosophy class. While I’ll never rewatch Sartre’s No Exit or cite Nietzsche in casual conversation, the experience reshaped how I approach decision-making. It taught me to balance curiosity with practicality and to view missteps as part of the learning process.
Regret, I’ve realized, often stems from mismatched expectations. That class wasn’t inherently “bad”—it just wasn’t right for me. And that’s okay. College is a laboratory for experimentation, and not every experiment yields the desired result. The key is to extract meaning from the mess, even if the meaning is “Never again.”
So, if you’re staring at a course catalog, torn between curiosity and caution, remember: Every misstep is a stepping stone. Just maybe avoid existentialism unless you’re ready to question everything—including why you signed up in the first place.
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