Cool Cat's Portfolio

The next step into finding myself was to join the honor’s program and be matched with a mentor. I was very excited to have someone I could go to for college advice, to help me with my homework, and to guide me through my degree plan. But every time I would enter his office, he’d cross his legs, fold his bony fingers across his knee, and look at me with a smirk. Like the Duchess, he believed everything had a moral.

“‘You’re thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.’”²

When I complained about professors that treated other students unfairly, he’d say, “Good. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” If I was overwhelmed with homework and completely confused, he’d say, “Good, that means you’re learning.”

In his world, if you weren’t flustered, overwhelmed, or confused, you weren’t trying hard enough. I hate the feeling of being out of control, but he explained this feeling as “college:”

“‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
“‘Oh, you ca’n't help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’”³

I’ve gone on about the presentations I was forced to do in previous blogs. These were their essential tools in helping me find my voice. One day when I was discussing a project with my mentor, he suggested altering it to fit some other thesis. I think he was proudest of me when I finally said, “No, that’s not what my project is about.”

“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
“No, I give it up,” Alice replied. “What’s the answer?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter.
“Nor I,” said the March Hare.⁴

Other professors of the college caught on to my mentor’s methods. Instead of the quiet girl in the class, I was now on a journey of self-enlightenment. They ate this up. One professor asked me to analyze The Sneetches and participate in a chili cook off. Another professor had me dress up like June Cleaver and present cultural feminism to total strangers. I traveled across the country, danced with Native Americans, and watched horror films–all to find myself. But none of this has been explained to me.

Talking back to a professor, saving an egg from falling, and public embarrassment are their ways to help me find myself. But why? Why these methods? Like the Cheshire-Cat’s advice, I should keep moving forward. “‘—so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation. ‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long enough.’”⁵

I’ll just have to trust those in my college Wonderland and believe there is a moral in their madness.