The Diving Dell and the Degree
Alexandra Ormerod
To be absorbed, engrossed, occupied, engaged, preoccupied, involved, engulfed, lost in: the Oxford thesaurus gives a gamut of synonyms for immersion. To be immersed is presented as a positive experience -which it is - but it avoids any of the ‘drowning not waving’ moments which are inevitably part of the process. As a mature student, returning to study after twenty years, my experience of the BA Combined Languages at Surrey was not so much a brief dip in a plunge pool, as a swimming the channel epic. Rekindling two languages and launching into another two ab initio required a degree of focus and some measure of cussed determination. For my experience to be worthwhile, I had to do far more than dip my toe in the water; it felt more like white water rafting where frequent capsizing and inexorable movement forwards were all part of the ride. Habituating the brain to so many different languages, second nature to many children, felt like new pathways were being constructed through a rather dusty medium! The task involved patterns of thought, of sound, of perspective and often led to a cacophony of sound bites from different languages emerging unexpectedly day and night. Rather than a gentle basting with language this was a full-on linguistic broiling. French, Spanish and Russian coupled with the ‘languages for all’ Italian programme made for a kaleidoscope of language with all the overlap and confusion this entailed: friends asked why I opted for such cursory study of so many languages when it might have made more sense to master one properly. The tackling of territory that was personally unchartered was all part of my experience of being immersed in learning; I could have kept within my comfort zone of knowledge or ability but in broadening the remit the engagement became greater. Learning languages provided direct access to other cultures where these suddenly appeared in glorious technicolour after an extended period of monochrome.
I have described the whole four years as being a period of immersion; there were inevitably periods within this, fitting within one another like successively smaller Russian dolls, where my level of involvement was particularly intense. One of the draw-backs of a modular system, with many modules limited to one semester, is that the opportunity to burrow deep into an area of study is stunted by time and exam pressures. In contrast, I found that researching and writing for my dissertation was a period of protracted immersion, painful at times, but fulfilling and worth the corneal ‘screen burn’ from hours glaring at a lap-top. My area of study genuinely fascinated me and developed out of one of the course’s modular topics. Boring into dissertation research and mining for information that related to my area of interest was like throwing a net out to a vast shoal of fish and then examining their gills though a microscope. In fact the experience of academic study is akin to looking through a microscope, where attention to detail and heightened perception are integral to the process.
But saturation in study, albeit fruitful and rewarding, can lead to imbalances in life. I found there were times when I was looking at life too often through one end of a telescope and that it was necessary to turn it around in order to appreciate the bigger picture. There were times when other aspects of life became peripheral and when it would have been more healthy and helpful to family, friends and no doubt to myself to have taken a step back from the brain-burn and to have punctuated this period with more ‘decompression’ and down-time. Catching up on education in later life brings a ‘do or die’ mentality, where there is an avid need to make up for lost time, and where levels of absorption, as a result, are profound. There were times, also, where this level of absorption inevitably resulted in an implosion, and exhaustion and panic ensued. I was fortunate to be given good advice and support by the university and consistent family back-up (despite their wry amusement at my obscure linguistic interests and despair at episodes of maternal disengagement). The support of a personal tutor who was also my dissertation supervisor was invaluable and her response to one of my more anxious e-mails read, ‘Whatever you do don’t panic – all will be alright’ and was characteristic of her calm and encouraging approach. Life runs in tandem with academic studies and just as the latter impacts on the former, so do life events arise and disrupt the flow of university studies. Bereavement and illness made study seem superficial and irrelevant and I had to work hard to re-submerge myself in studies: like a child hampered by armbands who strives to swim under water. The university counselling service was a confidential catalyst for regarnering focus and for seeing through the project to completion. And then there were the usual suspects - bite-size chunks, realism, rewards, perspective, motivation, diet, exercise, the glib advice I have given my own children weary from exam pressure. Glib, but helpful. One basic mistake I made was to become so involved in the momentum of the mind, especially during the final year, that my body became static and creaked like the tin man. It is easy to forget that body and mind are interlinked and that the brain functions better with judicious doses of fresh air and movement; mine certainly does.
And why did I see it through to completion? Stubbornness, an ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish’ mind-set, university fees, job prospects, pride, determination. I also wondered what sort of role model I would be for my own children if I opted out when the going got tough as my daughters were all engaged to varying extents in academic hurdles of their own. All these factors contributed to my staying the course. But above all it was the pleasure of learning, the total absorption in areas of interest, to the exclusion of all other thought which was the most motivating factor. Meditation in reverse, where instead of emptying, you are actively filling the mind-tank and making improbable connections. It doesn’t matter that these have been made by a thousand students before you, what matters is that you have realised them for the first time. To be immersed is supremely creative – and to be creative you have to be utterly immersed. There are no half measures. It is a transforming process. It is what learning is about and it is the greatest stimulus to deep and sustained study.
Childbirth, the study of literature, playing the cello, acute illness, creative writing – these have all been situations where intense focus and energy have resulted in an experience of being immersed. They have been the moments that have made life less ordinary and which have given insight into our condition. They are (apart from illness!) supremely fulfilling and demand a retreat from the periphery and concentration on the core of the task. They are both a discipline and a pleasure. My learning experiences at Surrey University provided many such situations and the rewards, both concrete and intangible, have been great. I am currently mid-way through an MA programme at Surrey and hope the immersion tactics I have learned at university can be translated to other areas of work and interest in the future.
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