Before I knew for sure that I would be attending Tufts, I found myself at the center of campus on the most beautiful day in April, surrounded by students throwing Frisbees and eagerly attacking pre-frosh about their club preferences. I accepted all the leaflets that were given to me on health requirements, the Harry Potter Society and Tufts Wilderness Orientation, to name a few, and stuffed them into the large tote bag I had been given earlier. It was tan with blue lettering, and as it got heavier with more and more information, I passed it to my parents. They agreed to carry it for me, and after we went home, the bag disappeared into the abyss of my closet for a while.
Yet when I took the first opportunity I could find to bust out my Tufts tote bag with newfound pride, I was mocked by one of my good friends. He laughed at my free bag from Tufts, calling it the most expensive tote bag he'd ever seen: the $50,000-per-year tote bag. Struck by the truth in this statement, I laughed along, but I've been thinking about the value of education ever since. Friends or rather, friends' parents are paying similar tuitions for other quality institutions, such as Columbia, Dartmouth, Cornell and New York Universities. We're all thrilled to be going to college and to be stepping out into the world to learn something new and worthwhile. But what exactly are we paying for with tuition?
We're all in it, on the surface at least, for the education. I want to learn and I want to learn how to learn and I want to continue loving to learn. The resources a school like Tufts provides in its libraries and especially in terms of its faculty merit this price tag; I know, objectively, what is included in the sticker price of a Tufts education. It costs a lot of money to run a school. My annual tuition doesn't even necessarily cover one faculty member's yearly salary, let alone include the details that we often forget about when considering every aspect that goes into running a school. Logically, I would think that a part of someone's tuition must go into paying for the woodchips that line the path up to the quad.
Yet is this money we're paying really worth it? I've often thought about where else the money could go if I found a school, and they're certainly out there, that only costs $20,000 per year. Would I be making more of an impact with my life if I took the $30,000 I wasn't paying each year and donated it to charity? I've read that $10 can pay for a child's malaria vaccination; could I be saving 3,000 lives?
My mind has also wandered to the way education worked in years long past. Alexander Hamilton got his degree from King's College, now Columbia University, without enrolling: He studied in the school library on his own time and passed an examination set by the college. That was simply how it worked in those days, but I worry that I wouldn't have had the drive. Today, I'm paying for the schedules, the professors and the syllabi that will direct me. To me, these resources are worth the money. I pay for direction, and I wonder if I would have the motivation to study otherwise. Even so, the walk home from the library will seem longer and longer as the snow deepens this winter. It bothers me that I can't be sure I even deserve this opportunity that my parents are paying so much for.
And so I start out the school year a bit worried. Is what I'm doing, paying above America's average yearly salary for eight months of information, the right thing? Should I be putting my money elsewhere? I might never know; I might never be able to justify this to myself. But I take consolation in knowing that the money gives me motivation to work harder and to really take in all that I can. I am going to soak up all of Tufts because I want to and because I should get my money's worth. I will carry my $50,000 tote bag with pride, because I'm on my way to learning and growing, and I'm sure that I'm going to do something fantastic with my education. Besides, if I reason that it is the tote bag that was purchased with my $50,000, then I can be happy that my education is basically free.
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Michelle Witrock is a freshman who has not yet declared a major.
