I took Honors 100 my very first quarter at the University of Washington. This one-credit seminar focused on the theme of "interdisciplinarity" and demonstrated the significance of noticing and utilizing connections between a plurality of views in complex contemporary problems. Included below is, first, my final Autumn Quarter reflection from Honors 100 and, secondly, my original Honors application essays. This course had a substantial impact on my decision to apply to become an Honors 100 Peer Educator. 

 

Honors 100 Autumn Quarter reflection:

A series of thoughts:

 

Interdisciplinary.

 

It means more than knowledge acquired from various and sundry fields. It means more than the accumulation of experiences. It means more than its apparent academic merit. How do we bring it home? What is it so damn important?

 

It is, essentially, allowing for argument, debate and discomfort. Reaching conclusions is easy. Wrong and right, proper and improper, appropriate and inappropriate. Unattainable ultimatums that have no real-life application objectively. The challenge of putting “interdisciplinary” into practice is in the courage of putting forth your own claims, subjecting them to others’ critique, and bringing the shredded tatters of your truths back before your eyes and determining their worth. Nothing “stands the test of time”. Relevance is not determined by time, nor the amorphous group of “them” who decided that interdisciplinary learning is worthwhile. The value of an interdisciplinary education can only be ascribed by the students themselves. If there is no tension-riddled pause, there is no real integrity in your argument. You have to push buttons, and make people uneasy. Defending your own claim against a conflicting thesis is the ultimate form of personal comprehension.

 

I seek understanding through connection. Links between areas of study are more important than the content of each field alone. When I am able to recognize commonalities, the entire network of humanity lights up. It is apparent that knowledge is dependent on other knowledge. Ignoring certain fields is dangerous, because one is also disregarding every correlation or postulate of understanding that branches from respective areas of knowledge.

 

In the academy, we learn whatever we can get our hands on, because we are told that “it’s better that way”. I learn whatever I can get my hands on because the process of learning is something to study as well. Everything is significant. Nothing can be discounted. Being exposed to a wide range of things is crucial to the construction and production of original, authentic ideas. Real people must learn real things, really.

 

We learn through asking hard questions and not giving up on the answers. It’s not easy to be a scholar. It’s not easy to write yourself. To breathe yourself into words, sentences, pages. Your beliefs, your thoughts, your decisions must be substantial and must come from everything you know. I have to be the English major. But, I also have to know the historian, the artist, the engineer, and the architect within me. It’s not enough to be a product of one discipline. One must recognize and utilize the most the world has to offer. Language. Numbers. Symbol. Tools. Problem solving. Socialization. International goings on. Awareness and curiosity are the two most powerful elements in a person’s arsenal. Wondering and demanding why things are the way they are. Who told me to read this book? Why would they tell me that? What am I supposed to think about this? The canonization of literature is a cautionary tale to all those who eat what is placed in front of them. think. for. yourself. Tell yourself what to read. Tell yourself to make a judgement based on what you know.

 

Because, you are all you have. There is no one else to push you in the right direction. There is no one else responsible for you. It’s about the microcosm of your own mind and being present as often as you can possibly stand. Knowing when to ask more of yourself and your assumptions. “Do you really think that?”

 

Lastly, the final stage of the journey: the disagreement. Solutions are born of compromise and the beating to death of ideas. Take the “best of what’s around”, and make it better. If we are adequately equipped to sternly disagree, and solidly committed to protect our own ideas, there is born an environment that inevitably brings about progress and transition. Nothing can be created from nothing. But, everything can be created from everything else.

 

 

Honors 100 application essays:

 

Over the course of my eleven and a quarter years of education, I’ve come to the conclusion that at some point, you are your best and only teacher. At some point, when you have sucked the marrow from every academic subject you’ve been presented with, you are in charge of what’s left. Cliché, I know. But, it took eleven and a quarter years for me to get it through my own stubborn head that I am responsible for what I give to the world. I was provided with the rhetoric, the formulas, and the facts, and now it’s up to me to translate them into human experience. Education allows us to grind together the bare bones of life, but that’s not enough. Without history, mathematics, English and all the other courses on our transcripts, our frame splinters, and we are left with nothing to share or offer. We must stretch the sinews and skin ourselves, and arrive as a complete identity. We are obligated to know who we are, and faithfully be that person. Our communities, both global and our neighbors across the street, depend on individuals who can function and progress. I am the sum total of what I have obtained from six classes a day, and what I will assimilate and then project to the world for the rest of my twenty four hours a day. I am what I was taught, and what I will teach.

 

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I can’t cook. The best I’ve ever been able to do is craft up some macaroni and cheese from a box, or maybe (on a good day), a sandwich. When it’s a real emergency, I’ve managed to put together a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I’ve tried my hand at cookies from scratch, but ended up snacking on the raw dough, rather than actually cooking them. I’ve followed instructions religiously, triple-checked the ingredients, and continually ended up with something completely unrecognizable. I swear, this was supposed to be two fried eggs with ham. My lack of culinary expertise has been a family joke for as long as I can remember. When I was four, I used to cook with plastic vegetables and an Easy Bake oven. Now, I shrink from the idea of even turning on the burner. Luckily, my parents have always been excellent cooks, and our friends never fail to point out that “it must not be genetic”. I roll my eyes and shake my head. But, what few people know is that I do want to learn. All my life, I’ve associated a warm kitchen with a happy home. I’ve watched smiles and confident hands and flour-covered shirts. I want to be a part of that. Sure, I can handle school, and music, and my stick figures are pretty phenomenal. But, I want the skills to spread butter and good feelings. I would gladly give up some Saturday afternoons to “kick it up a notch” and cook. To get my hands dirty with olive oil and garlic. To make meals and memories.

 

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I’ve worn glasses since second grade. My first pair were purple and plastic, but if I had my way, they would have been rainbow with unicorns. Even with my optical hardware, I could never quite see the dragon in the clouds that all my friends swore was there. Instead, I sat there squinty-eyed and frustrated. I was missing out until I eventually learned to fill in the blanks. Maybe I couldn’t actually see that eagle’s nest six miles away, but I could imagine every single down feather caught in the small branches. With my eyes closed, I could see the golden glint of the salmon scales scattered around the nest, and I could witness the chicks watch the sky longingly, waiting for their turn to fly. Now, as a senior in high school, my glasses have grown up a little bit. The lenses are still coke-bottle- thick, but now the frames are black, chic and sassy. And I still can’t bring myself to wear contacts. I can’t let go of the perspective glasses give me. They remind me that I have to actually turn my head if I want to see what’s over there. They serve as a constant frame for every moment I see. I can’t afford to get ahead of myself, because I might not see the crack in the sidewalk. If I’m not looking, really looking, then I’ll trip. So, yeah, I did notice that the notes on that sheet music look like they were hand-written by someone who was in love. Yeah, the streetlights on the Ave are dim, but I still see the humanity shivering under tattered blankets. No, I don’t think Allen Ginsberg’s words were insane, just honest. Sure, people everywhere look a little different. But, I can’t help noticing that the Space Needle is just the plain Jane cousin of the Eiffel Tower. And, I’m just the visually-impaired twin of everyone ever born.