Growing up, I had near-perfect attendance. In Grade 1, my school pre-emptively excused us all due to a blizzard forecasted for the next day. But my dad and I still crunched stubbornly through the snowfall the following morning, where he deposited me with the only teacher who had managed to trek in. I spent the whole day in the Grade 6 classroom, reverently listening to the teacher read Hatchet by Gary Paulson aloud.

When I got concussed during recess in Grade 5, my dad took me to the emergency clinic, made sure I didn’t need to be hospitalized, and then dropped me back at school right in time for last period. My Senior Skip Day filled me with immense anxiety: I had dropped the family mantle by playing hooky. 

But at university, I have absolutely none of these qualms (sorry, Dad!). The agency that cutting class can give you, the productivity it can foster, and the mental hygiene it can support are truly magical. Last semester, when I was juggling six classes, ditching certain ones not only allowed me to effectively manage my academic and personal commitments; it kept me sane.

Skipping can’t just be done willy-nilly, though. It’s “strategic”: There are certain courses that you simply can and can’t be skipping while still aiming for academic achievement. Last semester’s 8:30 a.m. in Stewart Bio, recorded, with no participation grade? Perfect for a later catch-up. Conversely, any conference or small 400-level should never be missed; racking up all possible attendance points in such a class is crucial. Overall, the better you can gaslight yourself into believing it was necessary or appropriate to sleep through your Monday morning lecture or ignore your Tuesday afternoon class, the less guilt you’ll feel skipping.

All jokes aside, I’m a big fan of the strategic skip. Skipping class can immensely increase your capacity as both a student and a person. It’s important to rest and refocus your mind in the face of McGill’s rigorous academic environment. Occasionally skipping a class whose content you’re sure you can learn on your own when you’re feeling mentally overwhelmed can actually help you do your best. You won’t retain any information in class when you’re too stressed, anyway. Whether ditching to lock in at the library or to enjoy a hot dog on the Redpath Museum steps, this form of skip allows you to clear your brain and be more present moving forward. 

And now we get to my favourite part of skipping class: It reminds me of how much I actually want to be there. The greatest privilege of my life is to get to learn. To be at university, taught by incredible faculty among really bright people, is something I feel lucky for every single day. The relationships you can build with profs, TAs, and peers by going to class are often more worthwhile than even the greatest skip. At a school as large as McGill, feeling like people know you and are personally there to support your learning is a huge win—one that can’t be realized without showing up for them, too.

I am a firm believer in committing as best as you can to all you’ve signed up for, and in seizing all the opportunities you are privileged enough to have in reach. This means that skipping—while more necessary than profs and admin might believe—must be done with the greatest discretion. Which is why I really don’t do it all that much. It’s an ace in the hole for reevaluating academic priorities from time to time, but shouldn’t stand in for the fulfillment a good class provokes.
Ultimately, the chance to learn something transformative and be suspended in wonder is what inspires me to show up and stay in class. I will never forget the enthrallment six-year-old me felt getting to sit beside older kids on that snow day, all of us hanging onto every word of Hatchet. At its best, a university class inspires that very same feeling: An overwhelming gratitude for being in the exact right room, at the exact right moment, with the exact right students, out of all the places and times and people in this world. I hope you feel that too.