I’m 27, working toward my Master’s in Psychology at the University of Toronto, and living in a somewhat lovely apartment in the Annex. I like to think I’m a fairly mature student. I’ve developed a decent understanding of the human mind, learned how to manage competing priorities, and become reasonably good at recognizing where my time is best spent.
Which is precisely why I have absolutely no intention of pretending that every class in my graduate program gets equal attention.
There are the subjects I genuinely love, the ones that connect directly to my research interests, and then there are the courses I simply need to get through. This week’s Philosophy midterm falls rather firmly into that last category.
No disrespect to Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle. I’m sure they were all fascinating dinner guests. But between research papers, psychology seminars, reading lists, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, there are only so many hours in a day.
Sometimes, a girl has to cram.
Living in the Annex, you’re surrounded by beautiful old houses, independent cafés, leafy streets, and plenty of fellow students who look like they have their lives together. My apartment is lovely, but I share it with two other women, both of whom have their own schedules, social lives, and entirely reasonable expectations about using the kitchen and living room.
Finding uninterrupted quiet can be a challenge.
The university library is an option. My desk is an option. But when I’m trying to absorb several centuries of philosophical debate for a class that isn’t exactly at the top of my academic priority list, neither sounds particularly appealing.
My bathtub, on the other hand, is perfect.
I discovered this quite by accident. One evening, I was exhausted, behind on my reading, and desperately needed to get through a stack of notes. I ran a warm bath, grabbed my books, and realized that the bathroom was the one place in the apartment where nobody was likely to interrupt me.
I’ve been refining the ritual ever since.
This Waverley Bath Board is now an essential part of my setup. I rest my notes and tablet on it, drop a fragrant bath bomb into the water, and enjoy the delicate, woody scent of quality Japanese incense in a smart little holder. I keep a glass of cold water nearby, close the door, and let the rest of the apartment carry on without me.
Suddenly, no roommates chatting in the kitchen. No notifications tempting me to check my phone. No urge to reorganize my entire life instead of studying.
Just me and several thousand years of philosophical debate.
My method is pretty straightforward. I read a passage, identify the main argument, put the book down, and try to explain the idea in my own words. If I can’t, I read it again. I compare the philosophers, make notes on the concepts most likely to appear on the exam, and try to distinguish what I actually understand from what merely looks familiar on the page.
It’s not glamorous, and it certainly isn’t a substitute for keeping up with the material throughout the semester. But it works better for me than staring miserably at a textbook while thinking about everything else I could be doing.
I’ve come to realize that everyone learns differently. Some people can listen to a lecture once and remember everything. Others need flashcards, study groups, handwritten notes, or hours in a library cubicle. I find that a warm bath helps me settle down enough to concentrate, especially when I’m trying to get my head around material that doesn’t naturally capture my attention.
Does bathing make me a better philosopher? Probably not.
Does the constant adding of more hot water make two hours of last-minute revision considerably more enjoyable? Absolutely.
And there’s something rather funny about trying to understand the nature of knowledge while desperately acquiring enough of it to pass an exam.
I’m hoping to emerge from the bath knowing the difference between Plato’s theory of Forms and Aristotle’s approach to reality. At this stage of the semester, that feels like a perfectly respectable achievement.
My bath board has turned an ordinary bath into my own little study retreat. It gives me somewhere to keep my materials within reach and makes the whole process feel less like a desperate academic emergency and more like a routine I can actually enjoy.
I’m not going to pretend I’ve spent the entire semester contemplating the great questions of humanity. I’m a psychology student with deadlines, limited time, and a strategic approach to academic priorities.
Tonight, I’m cramming.
Tomorrow, I can return to the subjects I love.
And if Socrates has a problem with that, he can take it up with me after the exam.
