It's a good face plant, don't worry. Like shoving your face in cake on your second birthday and tasting the sweetness and fluffy wonder that you hadn't been able to take in a year ago because you were way too overstimulated.
So, a few hours ago, I'm standing in line at Dunkin to get pumped full of gasoline for humans doing what 21st century twenty-something city-dwellers do--pretend to be busy checking something on the smartphone that seems almost as comfortable on your palm as skin. Go ahead, judge me...but I know you do it too, especially if you live in New England where people are generally floating through life with a too-cool-for school attitude mixed in their coffee and dancing out of their earbuds.
An email pops up!
Great! Now, I'm not really pretending...even though we all know it is advisable to do real email correspondence on the computer.
Double great! It's a notification that a professor has graded and commented on a homework assignment. I really like comments. So naturally, I'm engrossed in this now.
I read the comments. I bubble with sparkles glazing my joyous smile. I have to share this.
And so the text is sent: "My writing is rocking Jessica's (the professor) socks. She just used the words beautiful and brilliant in the same descriptive sentence. Major win!"
And then some of the sparkle diffuses to wonder, amazement, and near self-deprication with the thought "what about that assignment was so beautiful and brilliant? why is Jessica drawn to my writing?" But I catch myself. I stop myself thank goodness! My brain has been known to snowball quickly--especially with these sorts of critical musings. And I recognize how fully affirmed I am feeling.
An incredibly well-spoken, well-read, well-educated neuroscience professor has just complemented me in a huge way.
HOLY DANG.
And then I think deeper again (see, you don't want to be me, it can be exhausting)..."why is this so big for me? what about this is important to me?" Yes, I took narrative therapy this summer, can you tell?!
A trip around the block searching for a spot to park allowed me the time to answer...I already knew it was important that people like my writing. I figured that out sophomore year of college when I encountered the first professor who did not particularly care for my style--the comments on my papers were always style-related--and I noticed I was offended. I know I am a good writer, but I'm not comfortable describing myself with any stronger adjectives. The questioning, learning, self-conscious creator inside me needs affirmation. I don't want to just be a good writer. I'm not okay with just being good. Somewhere along the purple cobblestone road of my life, I decided that's not good enough for someone whose career desires have, for years, included writing a book (at least one) and earning a Ph.D. People who are just good writers might write a book but not get published or if they know the right people they get published but no one buys their book.
To be affirmed in my writing style is to be told that my dreams are reachable, that I'm not a crazy person who wants fresh pumpkin pie in April (oops, that's already happened).
This afternoon, I met a part of myself that needs to be pushed to excel while its efforts are being both rewarded and affirmed. Now that I know I need feedback that does this, I'm gonna go seek it out. Next time Jessica calls something brilliant, I'll sit down with her and hash it out some more. If she's as intelligent and wonderful as her reputation says, I'm in good hands for the next 12 weeks.
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