You're playing you now

I suspect that my writing in this space will increase exponentially as my to do list becomes more daunting this term.  Case and point is the fact that I've completed four entries since school started only two days ago, and here I am again.  It's easy to find something to write about when no one is grading it, when there isn't a deadline, and no one expects you to be smart.

Today is a grouchy day; not rage-filled, but simply testy.  As usual, there is too much to do and not enough time to do it, and the only difference now for me - and what will keep me sane until summer - is that when it comes down to what doesn't get done, I'm starting with school stuff.  I've learned one thing in the last six months or so, and that is not to neglect myself first every time the going gets tough.  Things are certainly in a different perspective now, and in case I need an instance later to which I can refer, here it is:

Monday, the first day of the new quarter at DU brought with it the usual first-day business of meeting the class, talking about the initial readings, and what have you.  I went into my advanced seminar in Fiction and Theory (sounds thrilling, eh?) with some trepidation because of several previously traumatic factors: (1) the last time I took an "advanced" seminar, it was my first term at DU and with a professor who is simply mad as a hatter and even less pleasant to deal with.  At the time, I felt intimidated not only by her, but by the program itself, as I am one of those people who regularly feels like a fraud - as if at any moment, I will be discovered as being unworthy of a position in a Ph.D. program, the mistake in accepting me will be realized, and I will be run out of the department on a rail.  I never said these thoughts were rational.  (2) The "theory" thing always makes me bristle because I hate it, don't believe in it, generally shun it, and in a room with a bunch of folk who wield it like sword pulled from the stone, I never feel like I have anything to say; and (3) modernism and postmodernism are not my forte by any stretch - talk to me about 16th and 17th century literature and we're money; Henry James and I, on the other hand, are but stilted acquaintances from long ago.

Upon my entrance, however, I noted that the other ten people in the room were comprised of first- and second-year grads, most of whom I do not know even their names, and something happened to me at that moment.  I realized in looking at most of their faces that THEY were intimidated, still posturing as if they knew everything, pretending to be pretentious so they could fit in, and I had to give myself a quick giggle and mutter "amateurs" under my breath.  And not in a mean way, either, but simply with the acknowledgment that I am no longer there - no longer in fear of sounding stupid, of not fitting in, of being liked or validated in any way, etc.  I simply don't care because I've developed the kind of hard outer layer that deflects the tiny cuts of being a newbie in this kind of environment.  Damn; that feels pretty good too.  

When we began talking, I noted that every time Eric (the prof) looked around the table for answers to his queries, most of them looked down, pretending to be busy taking notes (I know this because Tyler knows this, haha), and I ended up being one of only two people in the room who had the slightest clue what we were doing in there.  I even enjoyed the class, enjoyed being the one who spoke up, who understood the theory and how to apply it, and hell, I even surprised myself that I had become this person and didn't even know it.  I am not afraid to sound stupid, to have the wrong answer, or to admit to that which I do not know (which is plenty, frankly), and that is strangely freeing rather than limiting.  Facades are hard work and pretension even harder and who the hell has time for it anymore?  These folks I speak of here will discover this, I presume, and will one day sit in this room under similar circumstances with the same epiphanic moment.  I hope.