When I was touring colleges during the sweltering summer between my junior and senior years, I heard the phrase “breadth and depth” perhaps a hundred times, repeated by eager tour guides tasked with selling their liberal arts college to me and my parents. “Breadth and depth,” meant a broad range of classes, and yet that somehow at the same time they would be very profound, or deep, or something of that nature. That seemed nonsensical to me–isn’t it necessary that the broader your education, the more shallow, or less specific it must be? I have come to realize that while that may well be the case, there is a way to actively seize on a broader education that is still unified under the idea of a single major, or concentration. In my case, almost every aspect of my education has been tied to the idea of “Spanish,” or the spanish language–which is curious, because the actual change in proficiency in the language has likely been little to none over the course of my education. I came to UMass fresh off the heels of an intensive (though short) study abroad experience in high school, and my level of spanish was higher than most non-native speakers in my 300 level classes–and yet the further I went on in the major, the more rusty my spanish was, and I was soon in classes (such as this one) where my actual language skills are much weaker than many of the brilliant students in our class who have more recently returned from study abroad experiences.

Nevertheless, I don’t regret my choice of spanish–and this is because of what it has represented, and what paths it has taken me down. Because I had studied abroad in high school in a spanish speaking country (and frankly, because I did not want to do a term away from my then girlfriend, now fiancee,) I did not ever entertain the idea of studying abroad again in college simply to improve my spanish language skills. Instead, I tried to tailor the rest of my studies to the idea of spanish as more than a language, but as a mechanism to enter a different realm of a myriad of different cultures, political structures and associated values–that is, while I’m not fluent in spanish, my understanding of spanish and some broad spanish-speaking norms and cultural touchstones have helped me better understand issues countries as diverse as Guatemala, Chile and Spain.

By being able to do things as simple as read newspaper articles in Spanish, or pronounce the names of the candidates for president in Honduras, I have felt that I have at least some authority to actively participate in discussions about spanish-speaking people around the globe. Language is key to feeling included; I at least don’t feel like a phony when I learn about these separate countries because at some level I share something in common with the people. As a white male, I am immensely aware that, on a profound level, cannot understand many of the struggles that spanish-speaking people incur on a daily basis in my country and beyond–and yet, I can at least listen to these complaints in the language they are lodged.

Spanish and Political Science together, especially with my tendency to take courses in international politics, have made me feel that my real major at college has been in globalization–and while I am looking forward to settling down in one place soon, I know that this undergraduate experience as somehow containing both breadth and depth at a university will be invaluable to me now and in the future.