I've regretted the decision to come here in many instances, but these past two years have perhaps given me the most cause to reconsider my choice, as I've found myself pressured by increasingly difficult cultural tides. However, being unable at first to articulate my doubts, to convince myself that I wasn't merely being weak, I was persuaded over and over again to stay despite my reservations.
When reason finally came to and awoke my senses to the greater personal perils of staying, I was still hesitant. Unsurprisingly, I found counsel from those urging me to stay gave me even more reason to leave. Some, incensed that I would even consider leaving to begin with, would go so far as to say, "Maybe you're not worthy of the honor of attending this school." Perhaps they're right. Rather than embrace what I found disagreeable here, I started coming up with my own version of the ninety-five theses. I could've worked harder in certain classes that in no way reflected or fed into my career goals, but I didn't (though admittedly that's my own fault). What's worse, I've even gone so far as to subvert the personal philosophies of a number of fellow students both within and without my major, persuading them that disobeying a select number of school rules (such as beard-prohibition) and failure to embody localized ideals of perfection does not bear any eternal consequence.
At about this point, many ask, "Why not leave then? You don't have to be at this school." And you know what? They're right.
There's a misleading philosophy that's taken root in the hearts and minds of a number of my church-going fellows, a belief that attendance at BYU is so strongly correlated to finding eternal marriage and creating a family in accordance with doctrinal discipline that failure to attend here and acquire a degree (or a spouse) is tantamount to damnation, a permanent blocking from all that matters most in the orthodox LDS perspective. What a tragedy this becomes for those who had better opportunities elsewhere, when the opposite of that deceitful thought is demonstrably true virtually everywhere the saints live in the world. What a tragedy for those who graduate from here unmarried, feeling endless despondency because of an ideological misdirect, despite the great success they've accomplished for themselves.
I was led on by this same undercurrent of young adult thought in the church and came directly to this school, not for a moment considering opportunities left and right, dotted all along the east coast that would have better suited my goals, my personal culture, and frankly- my doctrinal espousal to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
You see, BYU is a fine school. It's an institution of repute because its teachers are excellent, its coursework most often rigorous and rewarding, its culture unique, its degrees positively life-altering. Despite my complaints, I can hardly say that the teachers at the music school are unqualified or less than exemplary. Ray Smith is arguably the best teacher I've had the privilege of working under in my entire life. Dr. Saville is a teacher whose class and discipline is a force that often without words compels those around him to reach higher standards. These are rare and exceptional qualities in teachers, and I'd be a liar if I said that I'm not loathe in parting with the school to also be leaving these extraordinary gentlemen and women. I've wept openly with them at the prospect of losing them as teachers.
I say all this because ultimately it's not the school itself I struggle with or against. It's a small fraction of my own people. A select few of my fellow mormons and their accompanying culture that defies the doctrine I believe in. That culture bears the mark of, among other things, a relentless insistence that all around integrate. I refused. And while normally this isn't an issue (I'm terrible at conforming, mostly for neurological reasons), here it became a hotly debated matter for a few. With some, arguably the majority in my circles, firmly taking my side and defending me while others have, mostly without going out of their way, made my life a little less than comfortable. I found myself having a weird reputation as a philanthropic rogue, who while basically a good person was also a lost soul. And because my religion and my schooling here are often uncomfortably interconnected, this rather awkward social development began to interfere with my academic life. I don't think this would be a severe problem for most people, but this sort of thing exacerbates my struggles with aspergers to a degree that is painfully difficult to cope with.
People know this and some leaders have asked me to fight on. The call to soldier on despite the fact resounds strongly with me. A lot of people with aspergers are babied, molly-coddled and patronized the majority of their lives. That ease of living that comes from giving up hope in progression is a lifestyle I feel nothing short of the purest hatred for and I have for the most part resisted the attempts of a very select few to goose-step me into that lumpen sack of regressing humanity. Leaving in a way feels like surrendering to that idea, which is in no small part why I stayed here three years longer than I wanted to. But, having spent the majority of the past year studying out the sources of my problems and identifying other options as equally positive routes towards education and career-development, I realize now that that isn't the case.
I am soldiering on. My departure won't be one back to family, safety, seclusion, a disability check, or any free rides. The work I've selected is challenging and rewarding, the education trying. Leaving isn't moving from work to dawdling, but rather a removal of uniquely detrimental social entanglements from my pursuit of higher education and hard work.
So it's a bittersweet thing, for sure. But I expect in the end the bitter will pale in comparison to the sweet.
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