Why I've Never Had a Confident Answer to the Question "What year of school are you in?”

I distinctly remember standing in a big circle on the first day of ultimate frisbee practice during my second year of college, the fall of 2019. I arrived late after a late afternoon class and heard the intro name/class year/hometown/fun facts and momentarily felt a bit at ease because maybe I'd scape free of this semi-awkward introduction. Of course, the frisbee community is far too warm to ignore late-comers. After a rapid internal debate as my eyes scanned the 50-person circle, I spoke up, "my name is Claudia, I'm a junior," and got some feedback from friends that I played off with, "I know, I'm still getting used to it." It was awkward telling the truth, but not doing so didn’t settle well for me either. Through experimentation, I've learned to state that this is my x semester or year at UVM, rather than use a title such as “sophomore.” Given the former phrase, I am able to answer the question, “what year of school are you in?” in the most simple and honest way I have figured out, based on my own educational story.

 

When I arrived at UVM for "freshman" year in the fall of 2018, I already had 34 credits and "sophomore" on my transcript. Sure, I had the credits, but none of the know-how or real-life experience of a year at college, making the term "freshman" or "first-year" quite digestible. However, I felt awkward in conversations with my advisor for the unknown territory. I wanted to take advantage of having a year’s worth of credits, but still wanted to recognize my inexperience in the university program. I often felt I walked a fine line of being responsible and in a good position, and being a snobby newbie.

 

I originally enrolled in the Rubenstein School of the Environment and Natural Resources at the University of Vermont. This school had a specific four-year plan for students. Neither my first-year academic advisor nor other faculty I met with could provide satisfactory answers to my inquiries about navigating their four-year plan in a manner that worked with my pre-existing credit situation rather than ignore it. For various reasons, I switched my major within a month and still have yet to hear a more creative way to complete the Rubenstein School program.

 

After three semesters at UVM I had 87 credits to my name and "senior" status. Upon recognizing that, I met with my advisor just for him to tell me that yes, if I continued school at this pace I would earn a degree in just two more semesters. It was a late Friday afternoon and I think he was a little confused why I bothered to come to his office, but it was all too surprising for me to believe without some authoritative confirmation.

 

The primary source of my lack of confidence in answering the question "what year of school are you in?" is in a split-second size up of just how descriptive of a response to give. Generally, this predicament has made for an amusing time through college for me because I really don't have a simple answer for one of the most frequently asked questions. Even at family gatherings, I learned to unflinchingly say that "this is my x year at UVM." Among peers, this response isn't necessarily sufficient. I see a little confusion in peoples expressions and am often asked if I transferred to UVM, which I then have answers ranging from, "during my senior year of high school I took all my classes at community college and all those credits transferred," to trying to move along the conversation with a light-hearted "community college credits." Even the choice to say "...at UVM" is significant in that sentence for me, rather than saying "...in college." The first four college credits I gained came during a five-month wilderness expedition in 2016, and I proceeded that with a year of full-time community college. Regardless, it's a conversation and not a one-word answer for me, and sometimes a little too out of the box to stay amusing in academia. 

 

I appreciate people's polite curiosity for my stage of life, however in my ideal world that question can be worded in a plethora of ways, not just "what year of school are you in?" This question is limiting. Imagine instead asking, "how long have you lived in Burlington?" or "how many years have you been at UVM for?" Knowing how long a person has lived in a place is one thing, and inquiring if they have sufficient opportunities to develop sense of place and community is another more specific follow-up question. Or even, "how old are you?" sometimes seems like what an inquirer really wants to know. Furthermore, in some instances it may be more relevant for a person to know how much longer I expect to be around the Burlington area. In that case, asking that question directly is more logical and respectful rather than a useless "what year of school are you in?" Most young people probably have a very straightforward response, however a handful of students exist who lead more creative college experiences, or are well-educated without even going to college at all. The latter for which I refer you to Blake Boles' book Better Than College. For the bigger picture, adapting this language is critical to help enable young people to sufficiently explore educational options including, but not limited to a traditional college career. In summation, I cringed at college introductions and changed the Expected graduation date all too frequently on my resume.