On a Tuesday afternoon after my last class of the day, I stand in the dust glancing between the impenetrable windows of Ryan Center and the intimidating dystopian building of University Library. Which will it be today? Will I lock myself in a practice room and perfect those four bars of an impossible flute excerpt or finish up a story for my Medill class, triple-checking my writing to avoid the Medill F?
Northwestern is widely recognized for its dual degree program, an opportunity for students to combine two contrasting disciplines in order to obtain two degrees within just four or five years. I, like many others in the program, cram in eight or nine classes a quarter, equating to 5.5 or six credits, sometimes more.
The dual degree program is NU’s version of Pandora’s box. I cracked open the box in curiosity, lured by a promise of opportunity only to release a barrage of evils — all in exchange for the hope of obtaining not one, but two glossy diplomas!
Don’t get us wrong, dual degree students are well aware that we’ll have to choose one or the other eventually. Some of us decide to postpone this decision. Others are unable to lay down one of their lifelong passions. Whatever the reason, we are enticed by the freedom of exploration and the school’s promises that it’s actually easier than it seems.
Here’s a rundown of one of my busier days during Fall Quarter. Depending on my bedtime, I’ll wake up at 7 or 8 a.m. for a morning practice session — a commitment I often fail to keep. I drag myself to my dreaded aural skills class at 10 a.m., where hoarse voices are already singing Do-Re-Mi in unison. I move one classroom down to music theory, holding my marked-up scores that end up being disastrously wrong.
After a 30-minute break, I head over to our flute studio class, then run to ensemble, a two-hour block of intense rehearsal onstage. As soon as we’re dismissed at 4:30 p.m., I dash to Downtown Evanston to tour a potential apartment for the coming year and make sure to get back to campus by 6 p.m., just in time for rehearsal with my chamber group.
At 7:30 p.m., I sprint to Shanley Pavilion for a run of a student-produced show I’m reporting about for The Daily. Then I finish up my piece, then head to the newsroom for late-night pub. Time to go home? Not just yet. An 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. practice session is the perfect way to close out the night.
Crazily enough, I seem to have it easy. My mechanical engineering friend used to start her practice sessions at 10 p.m. every night, arriving at Bienen after EA meetings and projects. We would get locked out of our practice rooms after midnight on the regular, sitting in the hallways waiting for a custodian to pass by.
In just the winter quarter of my sophomore year, I stand by while the dual degree system picks off my colleagues one by one. Rather than completely dropping the major, some push back required sequences to focus on their non-Bienen majors. Others “ghost-drop” their musical disciplines, only enrolling in lessons and ensembles for the quarter.
This endless workload feels futile, a constant balancing game of countless commitments. “Why are we doing this again?” my friends and I ask each other in desperation. What drowns us in deeper grief is the knowledge that each one of us has deliberately chosen — and continues to choose — this way of life, every day.
So what’s keeping us sane? For me, it’s the comfort of knowing I’m not alone on this battlefield. My friends and I understand exactly where the others are coming from — we grumble together as we struggle through melodic dictations and as we sit in the library for hours. We don’t blame each other when we can’t find a single overlapping time to hang out.
While writing this column, I wavered between writing a brilliantly optimistic piece praising the opportunity for interdisciplinary education and a scathing critique of the sky-high expectations dual degree students face. But mirroring my indecision between the two disciplines, my love-hate relationship with the dual degree life cannot be confined to one side of the scale.
Yes, the program may drive me insane and occasionally hinder my ultimate quest for happiness, but each discipline gives me a well-needed break from the other — breathing space from the harshly fluorescent-lit practice room prison and a moment to rewind from the hit-and-run momentum of reporting.
I’m a strong believer that everything I learn will be useful at some point in my life. A career in music will require the ability to network and collaborate with people, a skill I hadn’t acquired until reporting came along. A career in journalism will benefit from my extensive knowledge of the art scene and classical music’s intricate history.
So no matter which road we find ourselves standing on at the end of this journey, the countless career crises and sleepless nights will bring to fruition a group of capable individuals filled with colorful perspectives.
Alice Oh is a Medill and Bienen sophomore. She can be contacted at aliceoh2027@u.northwestern.edu. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to opinion@dailynorthwestern.com. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.