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grinninfooleI have been upset with myself for not pursuing my goals, for sliding into apathy out of fear, with the attendant disconnect that creates in myself, and in my relationship with Millari. So, here I am at the Route 9 Diner, sitting opposite my love while she shovels the weekly mountain of shit that is lesson planning, and I find myself playing solitaire rather than writing anything, despite my stated goal of writing a book this year. Whatever I am capable of in that regard, I will accomplish nothing if I do not choose to do what I have set myself to do.
So, for now, I’m writing a little something I can post to get the juices flowing. Today, I interviewed a high school student from Amherst for Kenyon College. While I cannot comment upon the complexities of admissions decision for any college, and I recall from my time on the graduate studies committee how sensitive such matters can be, I think I can say that I liked this person quite a bit, and that I hope that they wind up at Kenyon. It has, of course, led me to recall myself at that phase of my life, seventeen years ago now, and marvel at how ill-prepared I was for life, despite three years at prep school. Actually, I don’t fault Phillips for this—PA gave me a lot of latitude and excellent teaching and plenty of opportunities to do new and different things. No, the fault, dear reader, lay not in my stars but in myself. (Frankly, few people have had better stars ever, in the history of our species. It’s very easy to feel crappy about what I have done with my opportunities in life, which is another irony, given how bitterly I resisted any attempts by adults to define my “potential” and what I did with it when I was teen-ager. I must remember: most grown-ups judge without understanding anyone else, and have no interest in understanding anyone else, and the one thing that makes me better than them is my constant struggle to listen to other people.)
Anyway, I had no faith my ability to do anything well, or achieve any meaningful goal in my life. (Why? Some shit my parents dumped on me, the painful experience of having ADD without understanding that I had ADD, and probably some of my own innate pessimism. I honestly don’t know, but I do know that I have come far enough down the road that I no longer particularly care. It’s NOW that matters.) (And why am I interrupting myself parenthetically? Because it’s stream of consciousness. Which means it’s art, right?) That's still something I'm working on, but as I look back on who I was when I finished high school, I can see that I have come a long way.
And.... Millari has finished her planning and we need to leave now. And I haven’t started my book yet, yet I feel content.
So, for now, I’m writing a little something I can post to get the juices flowing. Today, I interviewed a high school student from Amherst for Kenyon College. While I cannot comment upon the complexities of admissions decision for any college, and I recall from my time on the graduate studies committee how sensitive such matters can be, I think I can say that I liked this person quite a bit, and that I hope that they wind up at Kenyon. It has, of course, led me to recall myself at that phase of my life, seventeen years ago now, and marvel at how ill-prepared I was for life, despite three years at prep school. Actually, I don’t fault Phillips for this—PA gave me a lot of latitude and excellent teaching and plenty of opportunities to do new and different things. No, the fault, dear reader, lay not in my stars but in myself. (Frankly, few people have had better stars ever, in the history of our species. It’s very easy to feel crappy about what I have done with my opportunities in life, which is another irony, given how bitterly I resisted any attempts by adults to define my “potential” and what I did with it when I was teen-ager. I must remember: most grown-ups judge without understanding anyone else, and have no interest in understanding anyone else, and the one thing that makes me better than them is my constant struggle to listen to other people.)
Anyway, I had no faith my ability to do anything well, or achieve any meaningful goal in my life. (Why? Some shit my parents dumped on me, the painful experience of having ADD without understanding that I had ADD, and probably some of my own innate pessimism. I honestly don’t know, but I do know that I have come far enough down the road that I no longer particularly care. It’s NOW that matters.) (And why am I interrupting myself parenthetically? Because it’s stream of consciousness. Which means it’s art, right?) That's still something I'm working on, but as I look back on who I was when I finished high school, I can see that I have come a long way.
And.... Millari has finished her planning and we need to leave now. And I haven’t started my book yet, yet I feel content.
