A Lesson in Writing and Authenticity

Often my blog drafts begin as emails to myself that I write during my commute or while I'm traveling. Sometimes they make it straight to the blog, and other times they end up in draft folder purgatory. I was sorting through my emails recently and came across this post that I wrote last summer. It still seems relevant and worth sharing, especially since today is the second anniversary of this blog. This blog has been such a rewarding project for me. It has helped me to think about my experiences in a different way, to open doors for bigger conversations, and to reclaim my long lost love: writing.

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I spent my flight to Minneapolis reading Katie Couric's The Best Advice I Ever Got: Lessons from Extraordinary Lives. I think under regular circumstances I would find the essays a bit cliched. The overarching themes are to be expected: work hard, follow your passions, be kind to others. But I find myself once again with the stirring feeling that I am not where I am supposed to be, and this has led me to search for advice and inspiration wherever I can get it.

One essay that touched me unexpectedly was from Jay Leno. He talked about being called out by his sophomore English teacher for not applying his talents in class. When he wrote down his comedy and read it aloud in class he was surprised by the positive reactions he got from people. This experience completely changed the way he saw himself and his aspirations, and of course, the rest is history.
Reading this reminded me of a life-changing experience I myself had in sophomore English class, one which I haven't thought about in some time.

Growing up I was generally well liked by teachers. I was quiet, obedient, and bright. I came to take approval for granted. When I got to Mr. Hartman's Sophomore Lit class, I felt too good to be there. I was disgusted by my loud, lazy classmates who talked about the parties they went to that weekend and the girls they wanted to bang. I came to class with no will to apply myself, and participated only reluctantly. I somehow thought my disdain for the class was well-hidden since I had always been a favorite among teachers. Imagine my surprise when one day I was called to stay after class. Mr. Hartman told me in no uncertain terms that he knew I was smarter than most of the kids in class but he was not impressed at all with my attitude. He told me to get my act together. I left his classroom trembling with anger. I had never, ever gotten in trouble at school before and I was indignant that I didn't deserve this. Not one to rebel though, I made efforts to keep my attitude in check and be more respectful to my classmates, no matter how annoyingly immature I found them! 

Late in the year, we had an assignment to write an essay about a memorable moment in our life. I decided to write about a time when I visited my dad in the psych ward and cried. He was not in good shape, in ways I am not even ready to describe here, and even though his mental illness had been a reality in my life since I was seven, I found myself at 14 crying about it for the very first time, mourning the life he would never have and the dad I would never have. The pain I felt that day burned into me. What hurt worse than the intense rush of grief was the shame I felt. No one seemed to get why I was sad. I felt like everyone treated me like a silly, emotional child, even though part of me knew that those tears were a completely honest and normal reaction to a difficult situation that had been combed over and covered with secrets, silence, and fake smiles.

I don't know what possessed me to write about this experience because prior to that, I had opened up to very few people about my dad's condition, and even when I did, I made sure to make it sound like it was no big deal. I don't think I had ever told anyone how hard it was for me. But I put it on paper and gave it to Mr. Hartman. The next week, he called me up to his desk before class. I was a bit panicked that he was going to chastise me again. But instead he asked me if he could read my paper aloud in class that day. I was so stunned, I just nodded not really having time to think it over. At the end of class that day, he sat down in front of the room and read my words aloud. I just kept my eyes locked on my desk, not wanting to give away that this was my essay. I didn't look up until I realized that he had paused awkwardly, and that his voice was cracking. Mr. Hartman was crying. He was a towering, older man with a very assertive presence; not at all the type I would imagine to cry easily. Seeing him cry made me cry, and the paper by an anonymous student was no longer so anonymous. I don't know what the other students must have thought. The bell rang, breaking the tension of class, and everyone scattered. We looked at each other through our blurry eyes and had an intense moment of human connection. He told me he had read my essay in bed with his wife the night before, and that they had cried together. That was one of the most sincere compliments I had ever received.

I am not destined to become a famed writer or performer like Jay Leno, but that day did ingrain in me something I have not let go of since: the value of authenticity. It showed me that by being my honest, emotional, soul-baring self, I could create meaningful conversations and bridge seemingly wide gaps between myself and others. I think it may have been the first time I realized that being sensitive and expressing emotions was a gift, not a curse. It took me many more years to really "get it", but I thank Mr. Hartman for planting that idea in me and giving me a boost of confidence at an important stage of my life.

From that day on, we had a great student-teacher relationship. I came around to enjoy his corny jokes and strange expressions, and gained a place on his "nice" list. He ended up writing one of my college recommendation letters and supporting me through the application process. I haven't kept in touch with him at all (I sadly don't even remember his first name!), but as I'm at the point (again) of wondering who I really am, and what I have to give this world, I value the lesson he gave me, even if it does boil down to the old cliche, "be yourself".