Five Years From Now

I remember dating a particular guy in my early twenties. I believe he was at least ten years older. He had plans. He was planted firmly. He had a good story about how he paved his path to being a self-employed person in his trade. I was just a play thing, and it was quite short lived. What did I know? We went on a hike one day, found a spot to sit and take in our surroundings, to talk. He asked me one of the questions that I dreaded: “Where do you see yourself in five years?” Gulp. Giggles from me. “I don’t know” I said.

I think I pretty much knew at that point, that this relationship was done—if one can even call it a relationship.

It’s about 17 years later—almost, and when this question was posed to me recently, I didn’t feel dread, exactly, but I still didn’t have an answer like most people do. My reply was that I would probably still be taking classes, fueling my passion for learning. I know that I can learn on my own, and I try to do a fare amount of that, but there is something about the structure of a classroom, whether online or face-to-face, that I need, that I desire.

For my next adventure, I will be taking two courses in the Fall. I had enrolled in these courses at the same time I enrolled in the Summer speech course. I was actually going to take a Latin American literature course, but the instructor changed, and I figured I could take that later. My final decision was: Career and Life Planning and Beginning Film and TV Script Writing. I always love taking any type of English or writing courses and it had never occurred to me to take a script writing course at the community college. I said, “What the hell.” It’s an area that I have not explored in detail and one where I feel the structure would be beneficial, and I feel that I sometimes view the world through a lens of sorts.

I emailed the instructor with a concern of whether this was a good fit for me. His reply put me at ease. He provided me with a syllabus and this is how he closed his email to me, “If you like to create characters and get them into trouble and see how they work their problems out you should enjoy the process… At its best it is poetry.” I felt my juices fire up. Also I realized that inspiration came from, some time ago, reading and viewing Red Room author, writer, scriptwriter, and filmmaker, Abdelwahab Hammoudi’s blog. Seeds are everywhere and one never knows when they will circle back or begin sprouting.

I told myself that I will go in with an “empty cup” and I will try not to have expectations, but enjoy the journey of both courses. I have done a fair amount of processing what I want to do with my life and how can I bring my passions together. Apparently, I’m still working on it. I recently started re-reading, “How to Find the Work you Love” by Laurence G. Boldt, just as an appetizer. I feel like where I’m at right now, my mind is more receptive and maybe even a little more prepared to surrender. I know that I love creativity and life and people. I also know that I still need to develop my self-confidence, so with that, the journey continues. I would feel empty without learning, processing, sharing, creating. I feel that I’m in a continuous state of flux and that I am always at the crossroads. I suppose that’s not such a bad place to be.

Ode to Teachers: The Traditional, non-traditional, and everyone in between

When did I learn to fly?

They say that, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I know that’s not true. These words ring in my ears. The words sting, bur into the soul, seep the life out of you. Yes, the words hurt. However, the words can also be turned into kindling, spark a light—to say in turn, “Your words are not true!” No, I am not stupid, Mrs. H. Just because I’m quiet, just because my classmate whom I’m partnered with also doesn’t understand this grammar crap, does not mean we are stupid. Shame on you, Mrs. H, to look me in the eyes, and with the coldest tone ask, “What…are you stupid?” But of course, this is high school—what seems now eons ago. I had other concerns, inner turmoil, and was too timid to stick up for myself.

It didn’t get much better. It was a long slow process. My first junior college course was a disaster. I remember you well, Mrs. M. When we met to discuss my paper during class and you said with a nonchalant air, “I don’t know…This essay—It sounds like you were on something.” I look at you in shock. Am I hearing you right? True that I didn’t follow the assignment exactly. I was exploring myself. I was writing about my experience, my feelings, inspired by my explorations of the Eastern traditions. “Ah…,”you say, “now I understand. My sister’s into that and I can never understand her letters to me. But this is really off topic, and it’s all over the place. It’s a “D” but I gave you a “C.” I suggest you drop the class.

Why didn’t I quit? No one really encouraged me. I don’t know exactly, but I didn’t give up. There were more discouraging words at different times, but I kept on. I knew it wasn’t all their fault. I knew I wasn’t up to par. Grammar was still a chore and I wasn’t writing complete or organized thoughts. I kept enrolling in English courses and studying on my own, determined to succeed. And at the same time, I dropped many courses when I couldn’t handle the anxiety of speaking in class. It made the road that much longer. But I have no regrets.

When I first felt like I was flying, it was in Mr. Gustavson’s English writing development course for folks like me who still needed help with writing college level papers. We kept journals. “Write everything, don’t hold back,” he told us. I wrote every bloody thing down, but this time, I wrote about my days, about the mundane. I didn’t hold back. I surprised myself. I remember one day he was standing up in front of the class reading examples anonymously. I was listening intently and then I heard familiar musings. He’s reading my journal. I felt the heat rise on my face. I was startled to hear my words flow out of his mouth and when he finished he said, “Now does it sound like she’s having trouble getting her words out?” I can’t even describe how good it made me feel to hear myself up there through him, to actually hear something positive instead of the usual unconstructive criticism. It was a small moment and one that I cherish. It felt like I was getting there.

And then I continued flying in Mr. Hurley’s Freshman English class. Looking back, He was one of the biggest inspirations on my road—for the love of language, writing, reading. He was a kind teacher, very passionate about teaching itself and passionate about the students. In addition to the comments he made on our papers, he would attach a little grid of the different elements of the essay and he would put a check mark next to where our writing fell in that grid, and if need be, he’d add a few more comments. I loved this. I could really see where I needed to focus my attention. I was still on my way, making the small climb. I got a “C” in his class, but more important, I felt like I was in a constructive and supportive environment. I even had to interview someone for one of my papers, which was very scary for me at the time. During an exercise where Mr. Hurley had us pick a few quotes that really stood out for us to discuss. This is one from Susan Faludi that has remained with me: “My barracuda blurbs belie my timorous demeanor.” The cadence and potency of these words—they have become a sort of mantra for me.

I began improving steadily and could not get enough English courses. One last fond flight is from a journalism course on writing the feature story. The instructor started us out with reading two articles about teaching and then she wanted us to write a comparison/contrast reaction. She posted all of the student’s responses without names and wanted us to comment on what we liked and didn’t like. There were a few students who left comments under my paper that said, “I’d like to write like this.” I was in utter amazement and felt such joy. I do remember being absorbed in the assignment, being passionate, letting go, and finally editing and cleaning it up best I could. Even though this wasn’t graded and was just a warm up, I still wanted to do my best in my way, and that’s probably what the students reacted to. However, little did we know this was an exercise in how not to write a feature. After all the students had reacted to our essays, the instructor chimed in and said that while most of these essays were fine in their own right, they were not acceptable for feature writing and she proceeded to tell us why. And so the class began. It was a valuable course, and at times I felt like quitting because it was a different style of writing for me, but I relished in the challenge.

There are so many more positive experiences I’ve had since Mrs. H and Mrs. M. that put the hurtful ones into perspective. And quite honestly, if I didn’t have the negative experiences, I don’t know if I would be here today: Appreciative; both humbled and lifted; passionate about language and expressing myself in a way that is sometimes messy and sometimes neat, but always with passion.

No, I did not forget, but I forgive the hurtful words. I’m still flying, though, still trying to figure out exactly why God put me here. I’m still trying to find new ways to come out of my comfort zone, while respecting my introverted nature. I dream of one day inspiring and encouraging on a large scale, which in my world, will be a small scale. I’d like to provide a safe place, to provide a nurturing and supportive environment that allows for self-exploration, builds self-esteem and helps people find the confidence within themselves to keep turning the sometimes hurtful outer and inner words into gold.