If either part of this analogy stresses you out, you’re in good company.
I am currently preparing to take my first midterms of my fall semester and I got around to wondering why exams stress us out so much. It’s like going on a really important date.
I’ve had my fair share of terrifying exams and super awkward Valentine’s days.
The thing about both of these events is that they have the potential of ending two very different ways:
in an I-just-won-the-gold-medal! success…or in a my-heart-is-in-the-gutter despair.
In the weeks leading up to a midterm, study rooms are packed, all the books you needed from the library are checked out, and every conversation somehow finds its way to the question “How much are you going to study?” Seriously? Because how I answer is going to affect how much you study?
I’ve never liked the drumroll to an exam. It takes over your life and drives you to stress-eat ungodly amounts of Nestle chocolate chip cookie dough. When I study (though, truthfully, the occasion is rare), I like to hull up in my room, spend about an hour complaining, and then about two hours reviewing slides of Athenian agoras and remembering which dead guy wrote which poem about London in 1893.
And then the dreaded hour arrives.
If you’re like me, you put on the most comfortable clothes you can find, down as much coffee as you can afford on your cheapo college-kid budget, and roll to class with a can-do attitude.
You open the door to find a room full of equally strung-out students. There’s an obvious unspoken agreement to pounce on any sucker who tries to make a joke this morning. We know you think you’re trying to lighten the mood, but the rest of us are still cramming Kirchhoff’s Laws.
The professor hands out the exam and suddenly everyone finds time to talk to God.
This is your chance to prove that you actually know your stuff. This is your chance to prove you’ve been listening when it probably looked like you were, oh, I don’t know, texting or checking your Facebook. Because you’d never do that in class. Laptops are only for taking notes, right?
Your hand cramps up as you write that last sentence of the essay question and THERE! You’re done!
Even though I admit to mildly enjoying tests, for reasons unknown, I am still very glad when it’s all over. In the aftermath, you hear whispers that confirm you probably answered number three correctly. And you’d love to stay and chat, but you’d rather just move on with your life.
Then there’s the day you get grades back. Well, there’s nothing you can do to change the past.
This is that part we talked about earlier; where you’re crying with joy…or because you’re parents are going to kill you if they find out about this one. I hope that you find yourself more frequently siding with the first reason. Either way, I’m not one to discuss my grades with others. There’s something so utterly tactless about asking your lab partner what he got on the physics exam. Again, seriously? Because how I answer is going to affect your grade?
Instead, once I note that letter at the top, I like to tuck my test deep inside an unmarked folder and entirely forget about the whole experience until fate requires me to dig it up in preparation for the next exam.
Right next to that folder is another unmarked folder full of letters. These letters, however, were not assigned to me by a professor, but were written to me by various individuals in my life. And deep inside this folder are a couple of letters from my more recent Valentine’s days.
In the weeks leading up to St. Valentine’s Day, restaurants you wanted reservations at are booked up and every conversation somehow finds its way to the question “What are you doing for Valentine’s day?”
February 14th makes you overanalyze your relationships and drives you to stress-eat ungodly amounts of Nestle chocolate chip cookie dough. When I go out on Valentine’s Day (though, truthfully, the occasion is rare), I like to hull up in my room, spend about an hour complaining, and then about two hours trying on fancy dresses and attempting crazy hairdos until I feel like I look alright.
And then the dreaded hour arrives.
If you’re like me, you put on the nicest outfit in your closet and wear a charming smile to hide all of your anxiety.
You open the door to find an equally anxious date. There’s an obvious unspoken agreement to ignore this elephant named Putting-on-a-face. After all, there’s not really room for the elephant at our two-top at the French bistro.
The waiter hands each of you a menu and you know the time has come to start the conversation.
This is your chance to prove you’ve been listening to everything the other person said.
Even though Valentine’s Day can be quite fun, I am still very glad when it’s all over.
Then there’s February 15th.
We are again at that place of happy or sad tears. Ladies, he calls or he doesn’t. Gents, she says she had a good time or you hear from her friends that you totally botched it. Hopefully you have more fun Valentine’s dates than disappointing ones.
Either way, I’m not one to blabber on to other people about my dates. There’s something so utterly tactless about a post-Valentine’s fairytale replay or disastrous rant. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase “Don’t kiss and tell”?
All in all, I am very thankful that February 14th only happens once a year, and exam time only two or three times a semester. Because I’m not sure I have room for anymore cookie dough in my freezer.