Ah, senior year. A time to take classes you enjoy, make your younger friends swipe you into TDR for old times' sake and generally get your fix of college before they kick you out (you graduate).
Unless, of course, you're in the Honors Program. In that case, as payback for four years of free cake in the Honors lounge and discounted tickets to "A Christmas Carol," Honors takes little pieces of your soul through a behemoth known as the Capstone.
As a result, starting whenever you begin to get worried and leading up through the last possible due date, the honors senior's life begins to revolve around creating a masterpiece at the tender age of 21 while questioning just how necessary that "cum laude" really is.
The Capstone premise has no shortage of flaws. First of all, the process is inherently biased against those who aren't performing or visual arts majors. Honors gives everyone a number of creative options, including a "collection of photographs" or a "theatrical piece," as alternatives to the traditional Giant Research Paper. However, what are people who have only ever written budget memos and research papers on disarmament supposed to do? An interpretive dance? "The Implications of Gerrymandering in Texas Congressional Districts: A Movement in Four Parts"? Please.
Arguably, taking five masterpiece photographs may be just as intellectually strenuous as doing independent research and writing a Giant Research Paper, but it sure does take a hell of a lot less time. Not to mention that us Ward building dwellers don't actually know how to do anything creative. Unless Honors equates my sloppy Facebook albums from study abroad with the masterful black-and-white snapshots of a photo student, it's not really a fair trade.
The other theory behind Capstones is that they are supposed to represent something you are truly passionate about, or, failing that, at least something that will help you get a job after you graduate. The second reason is largely obsolete: If anyone has been preparing obsessively for getting a job after graduation, it's Honors kids. With our obsessive-compulsive tendencies, we've collected drawers full of business cards and scheduled biweekly appointments with the Career Center since second week of freshman year. After enduring internships, networking receptions, career fairs and portfolios for all of college, one hopes for a little relief in the last career-free four months of our lives.
The passion theory is also misguided. Let's face it - four years and infinite papers and exams later, the last thing we can get excited about is yet another paper about our subject area. (Full disclosure: I'm doing a Capstone. The dogma of overachievement is too deep-seated in me to stop now. I even somewhat like my topic, but it's because it has nothing to do with anything I've studied.)
The Capstone is supposed to be the culmination of your one most intense academic interest, but unfortunately, college coursework won't help you come any closer to realizing your passion. At best, it can show you what your passion is not. It's not getting hopped up on No-Doz and making annotated bibliographies about campaign finance reform until 4 a.m. It's the things you do outside of the classroom - the volunteering, the protest rallies, the drunken nights philosophizing - that show you what you really care about.
If Honors is actually concerned about us finding our passion, it should let us take the time and money we'd spend on yet another Giant Research Paper and go take a pottery class, learn Hindi or visit Australia after graduation. Maybe if we lose the pervasive "Honors kid needs to be an expert on something"-mentality, we might even find ourselves in the process.
Olga Khazan is a senior in the School of Public Affairs and a social commentary columnist for The Eagle.
