A Student, Fulfilled

It seems I'm finally where I'm supposed to be.  With my college major, that is.

Since the beginning of my pursuit for higher education back in 2000, I have perused many a college major.  Although I'm not as scattered as Pauly Shore in Son In Law ("Majored in karate for two semesters...") I've filled out my fair share of 'Change of Major' forms.  What started out in Journalism quickly moved to Advertising, then to Education, followed by Psychology, then finally resting on English.  Hmmm.... I thought there were five so maybe I'm missing one somewhere.  Oh well.

But back to English.  It began as a means to obtain my degree in the quickest method possible -- let's face it, I love to read and to write, so I figured it'd be a cake walk.  But the beauty of it is -- that it is.  A cake walk, I mean.  But not in the way I expected.  I never imagined that I'd enjoy my classes as much as I do.  I don't merely go to make a grade, fulfill a requirement to graduate.  I go everyday because I want to learn! Imagine that!

That's something that's always bothered me before, that I didn't really enjoy learning.  As much as I enjoyed my communications classes (and still do, since it's still my minor), and even though I'm not entirely certain that I WON'T pursue a career in copy writing, I never felt like what I was learning really mattered.  I was learning a process, much like the way I was trained to steam milk in my Starbucks days. Nothing I would ponder over in while driving to class, or in the shower.  I would never open the AP Stylebook with as much zest as I do Henry James' The Spoils of Poynton.

As corny as it sounds, the things I'm learning now enrich my soul.

I'm moved by Percy Bysshe Shelley's Ode to the West Wind from the early 1800's, and in awe that I not only understand why he wrote it but that I feel the same way!

Scatter, as from unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth


The trumpet of a prophecy! 


These men and women were just like us.  They were funny.  They were embarrassed by their relatives.   They loved other men's wives.  They suffered through depression and addiction.  They questioned human rights. Some fought for their own.  They thought about love and sex.  A lot.   They were awestruck by the nature around them.  They worried about money.  Some were celebrated for their ideas, and others shunned and exiled.

They rejoiced when citizens overthrew a dictator.  They celebrated their own government.

They questioned their ancestry, themselves, their friends, their gods -- and tried to make sense of it all.

Just like us.

And so many struggled to do what mattered to them most, which was to write.  Just like me.  Which is why I'm where I'm supposed to be.  Among very good company. Tweet