“So… what was your focus?” they’d ask. “Life,” you wanted to say. “I focused on surviving Econ 101, learning that I hate early mornings, and figuring out how to write a 10-page paper on post-colonial theory in three hours.” For the first few years after 2012, I hid that degree. I lied on resumes, stretching the “Pass” into something that sounded more like “Interdisciplinary General Studies.”
That piece of paper isn't proof of a narrow expertise. It’s proof that you showed up, that you endured four years of general requirements, that you finished what you started even when nobody was cheering for the “general” track.
Walking into a job interview with a “B.A. Pass” felt like bringing a plastic spork to a knife fight. b.a. pass -2012-
Why? Because society told me that the Honours kids were the ones who changed the world. The Pass kids? We were the backups. The general admission. The substitute teachers of the professional world.
October 11, 2023
But here is what I have learned, now a decade removed from that May afternoon in the cap and gown:
But a Pass student? We had to sample everything. One semester of Sociology. One semester of Renaissance Poetry. One random elective in Geology (Rocks for Jocks, we called it). We learned to switch contexts instantly. We learned that the skill isn’t knowing one thing perfectly—it’s being able to talk to anyone about anything for seven minutes. Here is the plot twist nobody tells you at 22. “So… what was your focus
When you don’t have a “specialty” to fall back on, you learn to build bridges. You learn sales. You learn writing. You learn how to listen in a meeting and synthesize three different arguments. You learn that “soft skills” are actually the hardest skills to teach. So, to my fellow graduates of 2012—and to anyone holding a “Pass” degree right now: