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Welcome! 

 

This is the e-Portfolio of Emily Nitz-Ritter (that's me!). I am an undergraduate at the University of Washington, studying English and the Comparative History of Ideas. This website will serve as a central location in which to document and contextualize the most impactful moments of my college career. Enjoy!

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The entire college experience is sort of like learning to drive a stick shift for the first time. You thought you were pretty slick when turned sixteen and learned to drive your mom’s automatic. But, now it’s time to learn again. The infamous manual transmission. Leveling up. Growing up. So, you think I did well before, I’ll be good at this too. Your first lesson comes around and, to your dismay, you realize that the car is parked on a hill. Yikes. The learning curve is steep and the road ahead promises to challenge you. You get in the car.

 

The first year of college is about transition and figuring out the mechanics of your vehicle so that you don't bust your transmission. After all, this car is your new life, your new mobile metaphor of freedom and adulthood. You need to figure her out, haltingly. You'll stall. You'll restart. You'll realize that you no longer have six consecutive hours of class every day. You might not have class on Friday (in fact, you probably won’t ever have class on a Friday ever again). Your time is yours. You move through different spaces and places, unsure of how to occupy them. Am I allowed to be in Suzallo? Isn’t it a Graduate library? Am I cool enough to be in this coffee shop? The car kicks and sputters to life and you get a little thrill. I can totally do this.

 

 

The second year you’re feeling mighty happy with yourself. It’s hard, and you work long hours, but you understand the system. You know what success looks like based on a syllabus. You apply for your second major. Your grades are good. You speak up in class. You do all the reading. You can parallel park on the left side of the road, on a hill no less. You wonder why people said college is so hard. You’re settling in to the groove and your confidence grows. You think the hard part is over. You think you’ve made it through safely.

 

Your third year rolls around and you're driving on the freeway, flying fast and feeling fine. Out of nowhere, you run over a nail and you're landed with your first flat. You've never changed a tire before. Panicked, you throw on your hazard lights and make it to the shoulder. You sit for a minute, unsure of what to do. You realized you didn’t actually know anything last year and that you were never prepared for this situation. You’re vulnerable on the side of the highway; each car that zips past you shakes your car a little bit. You’re watching them speed by from your own dead stop. Okay, you think, who do I know that knows something? You call your mom, your best friend, your adviser, you Google how to change a tire. You reach out. You find the network of support that you never realized you relied on. You’ve run up against the boundary of your capacity to deal with discomfort and uncertainty. But, the people came out of the woodwork to remind you that the drive wasn’t over and you learned to change a tire. You got back on the road.

 

Your final year, you realize that you survived. You made it out the other end. You are driving in the dark, and your headlights only illuminate 20 feet ahead of your car. You are eating up that road faster than you can see what’s coming, but you’re confident that you can make one good decision after another. Sure, there are scares and swerves and drivers that you can’t control sharing the road with you. They don’t make maps for this terrain you’re traveling. And, sure, road metaphors are over-traveled and over-used and that metallic Honda hatchback you're driving is held together by hope and will power. But, with a skilled driver who handles her well, she'll go and go until you no longer recognize the landscape around you. Shift. Go and go.

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