A small cactus, which is a symbol of my studies, sits enthroned in a terracotta pot on my desk. I don't want to be kitschy, I refrain from cheap comparisons with its spines and the juicy green flesh, I'm talking about something else. I planted it in the ground at the beginning of my studies as an offshoot of my mother, who already owned the original cactus before she was a mother. With her he used to look at her youth, now at the first grandchildren, with me at the pile of books, notebook and life in between. Because he's been living in my terracotta pot for seven years, he's seen all sorts of things: moments of happiness, mental leaps, but also despair, tears, fear of the big bang, just my studies.
A few weeks ago my colleague Maike Weisenburger wrote in this column about her studies, which she declared to be her gem. The study period is unique in life. There will never be more freedom, more love, more daydreaming, she would like to encapsulate the memories of them in her heart before she rushes off into serious life. The lines touched me because they sensitively describe what Maike, I and hundreds of thousands of young people experience when they are at the end of their training. We write our dissertations and ask ourselves: "Where am I going, life?" Everything is uncertain, everything is possible. It all feels similar to what it was like after high school, when life still tasted of vodka-orange and not red wine.
These are the best conditions for melancholy and in fact my heart would heavier the longer I thought about it. But I countered this with my cactus, the mute witness to all those desk experiences beyond the adolescent pleasure hysteria that are easily banished to oblivion. Glorifying the past is easy because we have a much harder time remembering the negative than we do the cotton candy moments. What is specific to the study is that our perceptions follow a big narrative that is drummed into us at every corner. Whether it's advertising, newspapers or the rector's welcome speech for the first semester, everyone agrees: studying is the best time in life. You never have to do less, it's never easier to live. So have fun and never forget that it's exceptionally good. - Really?
The pressure to succeed is high
I have my doubts.
I don't want to claim that our life is bad, on the contrary.
But is it the best of all possible?
It would take a lot more than just a party on Thursday, for example no fear of the future, no pressure to perform or a student loan that is enough to live on.
Studying is no picnic, as the numbers show.
The Barmer Doctor Report 2018 impressively headlined that around half a million students are mentally ill, i.e. around one in six, with a massive increase in the Corona crisis.
The psychological counseling centers of the Studierendenwerke are jam-packed.
I imagine a Cockaigne-Studi-Land differently.
But where does this idea of unbeatably sweet student life come from? It dates back to a time when students were still demonstrating on the streets, reading Suhrkamp's volumes of theories for private pleasure and knitting sweaters against capitalism. The 1968 idea of our parents' generation is still haunting our heads, that studying is a blueprint, a last human rebellion before it becomes stuffy. But reality caught up with us, we've been stuffy for a long time.
Bologna reform, globalization, neoliberalism - studying today means six exams per semester, as many internships as possible during the semester breaks, social commitment and a semester abroad.
Studying has become hard work.
Our goal is to prepare ourselves as well as possible for professional life.
The pressure to succeed is high, the ambition of the students all the greater.
That's not bad, no pain, no gain, they say.
But there is no time to knit for world peace, the only pitiful way out is organic cotton at
H&M
.
We're getting crazier
If we only emphasize how extraordinary student life is, we try to explain the study with a story from the past. It's time to change that. We need a new narrative. One that doesn't make any false promises, that doesn't start from yesterday but from today. One that takes a look at the study period in its current social context and asks about the value for individual personality development. We have to discuss what such a new ladder count might look like. I don't want to willfully demystify our image of the university, but I think it's about time. The university has arrived in the 21st century, so must the story about it.
I have to think of the cactus on my desk, which was actually watching me study, learn and read.
When he's soon on a professional's desk, what else will he see?
Then what is different, except that the cactus is larger and its spines have become thicker?
Maybe it's just that: the longer we face life, the more prickly we become.
The course thus appears as a place of fresh, original holism.
That says more about our attitude towards life than it does about studying.
My cactus got it.
It's seven years old and hasn't flowered once.
The best is yet to come.
Certainly!