i’ve always heard about people speaking fondly of classes with a distal reverence that never made sense to me. i mean i’ve liked classes, even loved a few, but never to the point where fading was impossible.
..until now.
last night was the final meeting of my creative writing class for the semester and i have to say i am feeling extremely…i am not sure of the word. something near sad but not quite. something near disappointed but not quite. some word mixed up in there..
..what an amazing semester. i didn’t realize how much i enjoyed that class or that it was actually the only class i didn’t feel going to was a chore at some point or another. everything about this class was perfect, just the way i would design a class were it mine to design.
the professor was cool. and i don’t mean cool as in he’s a decent guy, although i’m sure he is; but cool in that, “that’s a cool dude” sort of way. i still remember the second class. strange i don’t remember the first, but i certainly remember the second.
we were all sitting there. seats set around the edge of the square classroom leaving the central floor wide open. the door was ajar slightly and in he walks. faded blue jeans, black shoes, a light blue shirt with a dark vest over it. he had a bright turquoise tea cup in his hand that did not move at all as he glided toward his desk at the far end of the room. he took one sip, set the cup down and then memory fades…
..this is the class i was in. brief collection of fantastic minds and experiences and personalities all gathered within a room for two hours a week for one reason – the notion of expressing…or expression.
i don’t feel as though i gave it my all, though in the moments when i opened the gate the professor responded well. i guess that was the sign of my involvement. when engaged..reaction. i don’t know. but now that it has ended i find a strange hunger to write. a strange desire to just do every assignment over and send it in. to stand before the class and wail these horrendous laments or sing glorious tunes to the admiration of…one.
i’ve never missed a class like this before. how absolutely simple it is to sublimate reality within the context of the word…or the voice…or the word.
life.
the collection of moments.
the rendered memories defined by those isolated moments.
..ra
I too found myself over the past 6 months not listening to my ipod. It had to do with me needing to focus on some issues and on how to keep everything flowing. Feelings of guilt and unsettledness became more acute when I had the music on. Eventually I’ve come to not even bother bringing my ipod with me. I’ve even not listened to it on the plane several times. I also felt very disconnected, and I wanted to better experience the shared moments during my day…. however, almost everyone around me has their ipods on still… so perhaps i’m just in more of an appreciative mood for the lack of emotional influence music often incites…. or just less noise, no matter how wonderful : )
I’ve been a teacher for 15 years now, and, the end of the year comes with a bittersweet taste. I am glad the year has ended, and I am sad, too: students leave the school for other opportunities, students graduate, students move on to the next grade. I am a Spanish teacher at a 6-12 independent day school.
But, that is life, no? We come full-circle.
BTW: Here by way of Chanel’s blog.
Your writing is profound. I like it.