Dear Reader,
It’s hard to believe another year has come and gone. I’ve been at Queen’s for seven years now, and I’ve still got at least three more to go. If I’m not careful, I’ll be spending as much time at Queen’s as I did in grade school! But I wouldn’t have it any other way. What a privilege it has been to be here and to learn from and with some of the most wonderful people. Every year, I encounter new people, new ways of thinking, new material, and I feel beyond lucky to be having these experiences. If you are leaving Queen’s, I hope you share this sentiment. If you are coming to Queen’s soon, I truly hope you love it as much as I do.
Looking back on my time here, I’m trying to remember my first day of university, but the memory doesn’t seem to have stuck. Perhaps I was just that nervous, or maybe it’s because my core memories of that week were Con-Ed orientation (yes, you should go to orientation week, regardless of your program!). I do, however, remember my first day with Student Academic Success Services as a Peer Writing Assistant. I remember having a student come in with a CHEM 112 assignment. I knew about the standard lab report format and I’d written my fair share of lab reports in high school, but I had yet to encounter one in university. I was so nervous during that appointment. I used my training and managed to offer some sound advice, but I still felt like I could’ve done a lot more. I didn’t have all the answers for them. I often wonder if that student remembers the appointment, too.
My nervousness stemmed from feeling like I needed to know everything about the subject and writing style. But one of the most important things I’ve learned at university is that I don’t need to know everything. It isn’t possible to know everything, and striving toward “complete knowledge” is not viable (in fact, the teachers who taught us about S.M.A.R.T. goals would be greatly disappointed if that was our goal). Admitting that I don’t know something doesn’t make me less intelligent; it makes me more self-aware. I wish someone had solidified that in me long ago. The students I have had the privilege of teaching have never expected me to have all the answers; they have, however, expected me to know where they can find the answer. And learning this very simple thing has changed my approach to helping others.
I love to help people. Heck, it runs in the maternal side of my family. My grandfather’s small business went bankrupt in the 70s because he kept helping people even if they couldn’t afford to pay his fees. Sure, people might shake their heads at him for “poor business management,” but I think that’s the most human story I’ve heard in a while. I’m proud of my maternal family for having that trait, and I am privileged to have acquired it. I want to do everything I can to get people the support and answers they need, whether it’s related to writing, personal development, health, or something else. I’ve learned that having knowledge of your community—of the other people around you who also provide support—is key to this goal.
After being at Queen’s for so long, I’ve learned that knowing to whom to refer people is one of the strongest skills I possess. I cannot solve everyone’s problems, no matter how much I want to, but I can point others to the people and services that can help them solve their problems. I have indirectly helped a lot of people by letting other people help them more than I would have been able to do.
So, my advice? Learn about your community. Learn about the people around you. Strive to learn as much as you can, but recognize your limits. I wish I would’ve known this when I was alone after the CHEM 112 student left our appointment. At the time, I felt like I would’ve failed my first appointment if I directed the student elsewhere, but in hindsight, that would’ve actually made the appointment more successful. If I could go back, I would’ve offered them help writing an email to their TA or booking an appointment with a Writing Consultant at SASS. Sometimes, just being a guide to another service is the most helpful you can be. I wish I would’ve learned this sooner, but I hope this lesson is making it to you earlier in your life.
Don’t be afraid to admit your ignorance—but always be willing to do something about it.
Best wishes, everyone!
April