I've always considered myself to be a pretty smart kid. Straight A's, National Honor Society and Student of the Month. I still remember beaming when one of my teachers named me as the highest scorer on one of my science tests because I had outscored even one of the most intelligent kids in my class, which I thought made me intelligent by association.

Even when I got into and completed my first year at Denison University, which now has an acceptance rate of about 38 percent, I was feeling pretty good about my capabilities. I had managed to get all A's both semesters, was a favorite in my English classes due to my reportedly astounding insights, wrote for The Denisonian--the college's newspaper--and in doing so was approached by a professor in the English department to be her research assistant for the upcoming school-year. I left freshman year with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. After college, it was off to grad school to pursue an English and/or history Ph.D. If my peers had not done as well as I had, I attributed it to the fact that either they were in STEM which, while I respect the field very much, have no interest in pursuing or that they were just lazy delinquents who partied too much and didn't give a hoot about the $60k they were paying to go here.

I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

It is now my sophomore year and I can safely say that I have reached the Sophomore Slump. I am now the "wise fool." It's been rough. I haven't seen hide nor hair of an A on most of my assignments. Between assignments that receive an A, it takes as long as it inevitably did for the Cubs to win the World Series again. I am no longer the star pupil in my English class; in fact, my insights just seem to come off as shallow. Even getting a B is a major feat at this point. I've considered scrapping my English and history double-major altogether, which is blasphemous even to myself, and don't know what I want to do after graduation at all. I've found myself wanting to cry at least three different times during the week.

But I've also learned. A lot. I feel like I'm learning more this semester than I ever retained during freshman year. In fact, this is the first time I've felt like I'm actively participating in the learning process.

All of my classes this semester have pushed me into learning spaces way outside of my comfort zone. My environmental studies professor firmly believes in a curriculum that is more field-based than test-based. She doesn't want us to simply spit back facts on a test; you get more out of a field of study by doing it, she says. While I've been frustrated that my labor has borne half-ripe fruit, I've learned more about microclimates and biodiversity than I would ever care to know. My current English professor refuses to let us refer to secondary criticism-–which had been my lifeline–when writing literary analyses to probe our own original insights, claiming the text itself is a sufficient-enough resource. And most importantly, my macroeconomics professor has given us tests that are much more conceptual, forcing us to use the information we've read in the textbook to characterize hypothetical real-world scenarios.

The point is, it's more than just memorization. Any wise fool can get an A on a test just by memorizing the material. Our education system is designed so that you can navigate your way into a competitive college with the right test score. Not by learning what to think, but by learning how to think have I been inspired not only to work harder at my double major, but I've also kindled a new interest in economics. Only through real learning can I really say that I want to continue exploring a field of study even though my first test score was basically a bomb. I'm super motivated to work an internship next summer to explore even more career options that come with either English, history, or economics.

To the future college student who comes to college expecting to slay everything, don't. Your best bet is to come as a tabula rasa–a "blank slate."