One lesson turns into another.

God has a funny way of doing things sometimes. It's like one minute I think He's trying to teach me one lesson, and then I turn around and realize that instead it's something completely different. For example, that last blog post I wrote - about dealing with failure and no longer letting it define me? Well, of course the lesson I got out of writing that one was that a C+ is not as important as changing kids' lives (which is true), and it's ONE C, etc etc.

BUT, as of around 3pm yesterday afternoon, that lesson turned into a completely different one, and here's how.

I decided on a whim about a week ago that I actually DID want to go in and talk with the professor from that history class, and straight up ask him why my grade was what it was (because it honestly made no sense to me). I had originally decided not to make waves, because that's how I was raised and kind of how I am as a person; I don't like to intentionally go in anywhere and make waves, if you know what I mean. However, after letting this issue sit in my mind for quite a while, I realized that this was one time where I really really needed to take a stand.

I emailed him late one night, asking him A. if my C+ meant I had to retake the course, and B. if there was a time I could come in and speak with him this week about the grade. He replied with a:

"My office hours are posted on the dept. website."

Seriously, that was all he said. I read the response and was just like "well fine...jerk face." At that moment I just knew he was going to be a jerk at this meeting and was not going to listen to what I had to say. Of course, because I know everything...

A couple days ago, the morning of the meeting, I was so nervous I actually forgot to eat. Like, legitimately forgot. The last time that happened to me was during my senior year of high school when I was taking AP European History and therefore had exams just about every week. I'm not even sure why I was so nervous for this meeting...but if I had to guess I would go back to the whole "not being a confrontational person" thing; if you haven't noticed that's kind of my go-to excuse for everything. I was just so sure this guy was going to yell at me or say something to make me feel like a complete idiot...as if I didn't go through that enough when I was actually in his class last semester. Hmph.

Anyway, I spent that entire morning praying for patience, understanding, and strength. Over and over again. At one point I even bowed my head sitting at my desk at work, just mouthing the words "patience, understanding, and strength." Because you never know what's going to happen! 

Boy was that right.

When I got to the professor's office, naturally he wasn't there yet. I waited outside chewing on my fingernails for probably ten minutes (and it doesn't help that I just took the polish off last Monday so now I don't have to worry about accidentally ingesting nail polish when I'm nervously gnawing on my fingers...) and then he walked up, and the first thing he said was: "There she is!"

I looked around. Was he talking about me? What the fuck kind of greeting was that?!

He invited me inside, I sat down, he set down his (only slightly pretentious-looking) briefcase down before sitting across from me at his desk and asking me what it was I wanted to talk about.

"That freaking C+ grade you gave me last semester, you jerk face!" I wanted to shout, but of course I didn't...that would be extremely inappropriate. Instead I just told him about the grade and that I wanted to know exactly why I got it...aka. I wanted him to actually show me all the points I earned for his class. So he did.

And do you want to know what happened?

Huh?

Huh?

Do ya?

Do ya?

Do ya?

...is the suspense killing you yet?

It turns out my professor neglected to add THREE points of extra credit and FIVE points from an assignment he thought I had turned in an hour LATE but I had actually turned in two hours EARLY.

So long story short, I went from having 77 points in the class to 85 in just 20 minutes. 

My C+ is now a B+

But the (new) lesson is this: During this meeting with my professor, he actually told me that the lesson I should get out of this experience is to 

Not let anyone walk all over me.

Always question when something doesn't seem right.

Take a stand.

Be assertive...or aggressive...I can't remember which one he said.

Long story short, even though this "failure" didn't turn out to be such a failure after all, I learned that if something doesn't seem right or fair to me - like getting this C+ - I need to question it and be assertive in my belief that it isn't right. And that lesson on failure wasn't too bad either...God knows I'll be needing it later in life.

Wow...after writing all that out it actually seems kind of stupid, not gonna lie. You would think that "being assertive" or "taking a stand" wouldn't be that hard if something happened that truly bothered you...but for some reason for me it is, and it's been that way my whole life. I think - and this might sound a little like shrink talk to some of you, but hey I've been seeing shrinks for almost six years now so it wears off - somehow I have it instilled in my mind that if I make waves about anything then that automatically classifies me as a bad person, or that if I make waves about anything I'll get into trouble. 

I mean, that's kind of how it was when I was a kid, you know like if I made waves about wanting to go back to Mom's house because I missed her, when I was supposed to be at Dad's that weekend...stuff like that. It would just cause unnecessary tears and yelling or whatever and so now I just figure why cause any unnecessary tears or yelling or whatever? 

You would think there would come in a point in a person's life when they stop blaming shit they do now on crappy stuff that happened during their childhood and/or teenage years. Well, if any of y'all have reached that point please tell me your secret(s).

~Erin

P.S. In order to be more assertive and/or aggressive, this professor actually told me to purchase a pair of steel-toed boots and use them to kick people. Like actually. What.

The inevitability of failure.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it.

Some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you've lived so cautiously that you might as well have not lived at all, in which case you fail by default. 

You will never truly know yourself or the strength of your relationships until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift.

So given a time-turner, I would tell my twenty-one year old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a checklist of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life...life is difficult and complicated and beyond anyone's total control, and the humility to know that will enable you survive its vicissitudes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHGqp8lz36c

I've probably listened to this speech at least ten times today, in part because it's by J.K. Rowling - one of my absolute favorite authors and inspirations - but also because it's something I've really needed to hear as of late. 

For those of you who don't know - or who didn't notice on Facebook - I made the decision to apply for Teach for America for the 2014-2015 school year, just to keep my options open after graduation. I should find out within the next few weeks or so whether or not I got accepted for a phone interview, and then whether or not I got accepted to enter the final (in-person) interview stage. Right now I'm confident about my application, but not to the extent that I'm sure I'm going to be accepted. I'm of the firm mindset that whatever happens is meant to happen, and if I don't get into Teach for America then that just means something else is out there for me - something I'm meant to be doing. I've left the application in God's hands, so we'll just have to wait and see if this is truly what He has planned for me.

Anyway, there was a portion of the Teach for America application that included a few short-answer questions, and one of them really stuck out to me. This is what it asked:

A characteristic we've seen in successful corps members is an ability to be honest about where they need to improve. As a corps member, what one skill do you suspect you would most need to develop? (Your reflection doesn't need to be specific to teaching).

I've found that when filling out a job application or doing an interview or what have you, I tend to freak out at that question just a little bit. Okay, a lot. Because you never really stop and think about what you truly need to improve upon until you're faced with a question like this, and in a job interview or application you have to be totally one hundred percent honest! Nobody likes admitting their faults, or okay I may be speaking too generally here so forgive me, but talking about things we need to improve on, or things we know we're bad at sometimes kind of...sucks, and it's incredibly difficult.

I went through quite a bit of personal reflection before answering this question; needless to say it was a lot of chewing on the end of a mechanical pencil and probably getting some kind of led poisoning before I really figured it out. The thing I most need to improve upon is my internal concept of failure and my tendency to be a little too self-critical.

Looking back, I don't think I've ever been so hard on myself over my grades as I was when I was in high school, because I was under the impression that if I brought home anything less than an A- I wouldn't get into college. And I had to get into college because I had to get the hell out of Eugene, Oregon. That was my mentality, and it worked for the most part. I graduated Sheldon High School with a GPA of 3.91 and acceptances (and financial aid packages) to more than one four-year university. Really, the only thing I wasn't proud of were my SAT scores...but we're not going to bring that one up. 

#thatsbecausetheSATonlytestsyourexamtakingabilitynothowsmartyouactuallyare #what #bitter

Once I got to Seattle University as a freshman, I eased up on that mentality ever so slightly because A. I had no idea if I wanted to go to graduate school or not - who cares what my grades were? and B. College, especially a small liberal arts college, is supposed to be really hard, and you're not supposed to get straight A's all the time unless you're like some kind of superhuman genius. But I found that I was able to both keep up with the work and maintain a decent GPA anyway - keeping me on the Dean's List for five out of the six quarters I spent at Seattle University (which I've actually always found ironic because I don't even know the Dean's name at that school...awkward...).

It wasn't until I reached the magical land of Occidental College that I stretched that mentality so far that it became completely transformed. Right away upon transferring I was thrown into this whole new world where students took four classes instead of three, and professors expected at least 110 percent for their class, no matter the class - core, 100-level, 300-level, you name it. I'm not afraid to admit that come fall semester 2012, I was scared. Not of the school per se, but of the idea that I would be forced to stretch my "perfection" mentality so far that it would no longer be "perfection;" it would be "normal."

Fall semester ended up going pretty smoothly for me. I made some pretty good friends, had some good adventures, met Stana Katic and Kate Walsh, and my grades were compatible with those I got at SU. I started winter break with the mindset that everything was going to be okay, that I made a good decision in transferring and I could survive the extremely intense and demanding academic life. 

And then spring semester 2013 started, and it was then I realized that the true test was only just beginning. Being the genius that I am, I stupidly signed up for Gen. Chem. to take as my lab science requirement, because I liked chemistry in high school and I was good at it. Also the professor here at Oxy had really great reviews and he was honestly a really nice guy. I also signed up to take my junior seminar class (for my major) with one of the toughest history professors in the department, and when I say tough I mean like "if you get a B you're like the star of the universe" kind of tough. Add both of those things to a couple of film classes, two jobs, rushing a co-ed fraternity (which I love), joining a new on-campus organization, going on one too many adventures that should have taken the back seat to my school work, some personal problems, chronic insomnia, and some bouts of undiagnosed depression...

It was in spring semester of 2013 that I experienced my first true failure.

Now, I realize my definition of failure might be very different from yours, dear reader, but for this post's sake, just bear with me. In spring semester of 2013 I received my first ever C+, the lowest grade I have ever received in my entire life, in my junior seminar class, and looking back at that grade yesterday while filling out my application made me realize that it's this harsh concept of failure I've invented for myself that's the one thing I need to change the most.

Last semester, my mentality literally got stretched into a long strand of silly putty. But actually, that's how I picture it in my head...I can only imagine how high school Erin would have reacted to seeing that C+ on her transcript. I mean, I cried at this stage of my life, so there's really no telling what could have happened then. 

My reaction to seeing that grade, like I said, included a lot of tears, followed by a phone call to Mom and a lecture about how I shouldn't worry too much because I'm still on track to graduate next May that left me feeling about sixty or so percent better. I looked at that letter and thought, I am a failure.

I will never get into graduate school. (If I decide to go...)

I will never get accepted into programs like Teach for America because they won't want to see grades like that.

I will never get a good paying job.

I will never make something of my life.

I am a bad person.

I can't do this.

Now matter how true or untrue, those were the thoughts running through my head, one by one, each cutting me worse than the one before it. These thoughts were like razors, piercing my skin just hard enough to break it, and I was left to feel the sting and watch the blood flow. I was thrown back to my sophomore year of high school, when I actually felt that sting, watched the blood flow. I saw my dark place, and it was welcoming be back like an old friend. I knew I had finally met my own definition of failure, and I had no one to blame but myself. Yes, I could have done some things differently last semester, and I could scream and yell at my tough-as-nails professor, but the point is I didn't, and yelling at him for unfair grading (which it kind of was because every grade I received on assignments in that class was a B- or higher so it doesn't really make sense why I got a C+...) now wouldn't accomplish anything.

I beat myself up so hard about this little letter, until I looked at the Teach for America application one more time and realized...it's just that. A stupid little letter, and that stupid little letter does not get to define me. That tough-as-nails professor does not get to define me. In case you want to know what I wrote in response to the question, it had something to do with how I need to stop being so harsh on myself with respect to my concept of failure; I need to instead take my "failures" and use them to better myself, and to do good in the world. There is so much good to be done in the world, and a letter does not get to stop me from doing it. Teaching young students how to be good and kind and smart people and make a difference in their lives and in the world is so much more important than my grade in a stupid junior seminar class.

Looking at it now, I'm kind of at that phase where I can see it as "just one C," but I still feel that sting of the "first time." I'm still struggling to accept what happened, but I'm also on my way toward accepting that some failure in life is inevitable, like Ms. Rowling said. Occidental is a really difficult school, and it's supposed to be. Every semester is supposed to push me harder than I've ever been pushed before; spring semester 2013 just so happened to push me over. 

But I'm not going to be pushed over anymore.

~Erin

The teeny tiny little senior seminar box.

Now children, I'm going to tell you a little story about something that happened to me in class today.

It was a Tuesday much like any other in Los Angeles - the sun was shining at a balmy 75 degrees, people were milling about happily...it was a normal day. I woke up in a decent mood, despite the fact that I only got four hours of sleep last night - I thought, eh, it happens.

The only thing that was not good about today was the fact that I had a presentation to do in my seminar class (for my senior thesis). I mean, the concept of this presentation didn't ruin my entire day; no, it takes something big like a midterm/paper/final/the cafeteria being out of pb&j (come on, they make it with Jif and who doesn't love Jif??) to do something like that. The only thing was - is - that I am a terrible public speaker. Yes, terrible.

Terrible.

TERRIBLE.

T

E

R

R

I

B

L

E

Like, bury your face in second-hand embarrassment terrible. 

I think you get the picture. 

Anyway, like the devoted student I am, I prepared my presentation well the night before, practicing to myself with my stopwatch, making sure I touched on all the right points, etc etc. I just knew I was going to do well - I was going to nail this one. (It also didn't help that I had a presentation last week too for this same class and if it were possible to fall flat on my face while standing still I would have...)

I actually went to class today looking forward to presenting my primary source(s) for my thesis project. I felt surprisingly confident to the point where I was disappointed when my professor told us we were going in alphabetical order, leaving me in the bottom four presenters. It was a weird first experience for me to say the least. As the students before me all went - and did very well mind you - I started feeling shakier and shakier, but not in a bad way like typical me. Seriously, I just wanted to stand up and say "LET ME GO I'M READY I'M SO READY I'M GONNA KICK THIS THING'S BUTT AND BE THE BEST THERE EVER WAS."

Haha.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but was really only about 45 minutes, it was my turn. I stood up - still feeling great - handed out copies of my notes to everyone, and made my way to the front of the classroom. I opened my mouth. I spoke.

"As you know, my topic is on the various representations of Queen Elizabeth I in film in the 20th and 21st centuries."

And then it happened.

"...20th and 21st centuries."

Erin, you dumbass THERE WERE NO REAL MOVIES BEFORE THE 20TH CENTURY. I messed up. Instead of saying "...from 1955 to present," I said "in the 20th and 21st centuries."

Oh no.

I messed up.

I messed up big time.

From that point on, I was thrown off. The room felt like it was spinning around me; there were all these eyes staring at me, from my girlfriends to the cute boy in the back (who I'm sure just I charmed the hell out of), and for a moment I could have sworn I heard the professor's voice in my head: what is she doing?

I had a whole slew of notes in front of me, right down to the actual article I was to explain. But as I looked down at them the words danced on the page - not in a dyslexic sort of way, but in an "I'm going to have a panic attack" sort of way. I wondered if any of the other students were asking themselves if I was okay, because I just stood there, saying "um" over and over and over...what was my next point supposed to be? Was it about the abundance of female sexuality in the New York Times review article about Elizabeth: The Golden Age (2007)? Was it about the modern concept of a single woman in power? I had not a clue.

I looked down, wishing I could melt into the floor, or fold myself into a teeny tiny little box where no one could see me. I was embarrassed and had no idea how to get out of the hole I had - however unintentionally - dug myself into without giving in to my looming panic attack. But I pressed on.

"The...the start of the article says..."

No! No no no! I was supposed to talk about that quote at the end! They don't need to know about Elizabeth's legs yet!

I managed to get through the first quote of the article, stammering on words that used to have meaning to me but now just felt like pennies in my mouth.

"Am I allowed to cry in public?" I thought to myself. "No, no I can't do that. I was raised not to do that." I was Mia from The Princess Diaries; the girl who runs out of class to vomit when she's forced to speak in front of everyone.

Luckily, the tears - or the obnoxious lump that forms in the back of your throat - never came (nor did the vomit)...because my professor saved me.

"Erin," she said calmly, like she hadn't noticed a thing wrong with me. "Tell us how you can use this article in your project. What purpose does it serve?"

Purpose...purpose...ah ha! I could answer that.

"I'm comparing this movie review to one written in 1955 on another movie about Queen Elizabeth, and using them to discuss the progression in female sexuality, and focus of the woman in film."

Exhale.

Students began raising their hands to ask me questions. This was good - I could handle their questions because it gave me structure, kept me out of my own head. Some of them even smiled at me - even better. Once I finished, even though I knew I was probably thinking way further into it than my peers, all I wanted to do - once again - was crawl into that teeny tiny little box and hang out there for like the rest of my life.

You see, the thing is, I wasn't always bad at presentations. Yeah I would forget paragraphs here and there when I was little, or I would stutter on a word or two in high school, but I was actually okay at it. But for some reason, once college hit, God was just like BAM! You're gonna suck at presentations now and I'm gonna make you work SO much harder so that you DON'T suck anymore.

Well thanks a lot. It's working.

Maybe it's just because it's my senior thesis and my graduation from college depends on it, I don't know. There's just something about this seminar class that turns me into a squirmy little guppy when it's my turn to present any information. I'm sure Professor Stone is super pleased about that too.

I need to find my confidence. I need to have more faith in myself. I need to figure out how to stop needing this teeny tiny little box to save me from situations like HIST 490. For now I've actually decided to call it the "teeny tiny little senior seminar box," because it seems to have taken up residence in seminar class for now, and to tell you the truth...

I've never been very good at kicking things out.

~Erin

New.

For me, the start of the school year always comes with the "start" of so many other things. The "start" of new relationships, new friends, new professors, new styles in clothing, new tastes in music...just a whole lot of new. Honestly, more often than not, all of that new overwhelms me to the point where I'm not sure what to do with all the stuff that floats around inside my head.

Lately it seems like even though schoolwork and my senior thesis should be the only things floating around inside my head, they're the last things on my mind. I find myself thinking about the future a lot, like an unnatural amount, and I can't really decide if it's because I'm excited to be done with school or just unbelievably freaked out about the prospects of...life. The future is a whole new level of "new."

I have very little idea of what I want to do with my life; the only thing I do know is that I want to write. I want to write a lot. I want to be able to take all those thoughts scrambled inside my head and put them down on a piece of paper or on a computer screen and turn them into something meaningful. Or I want to turn all the experiences I've had in life - good and bad - and turn them into something meaningful, as a sort of catharsis if you will.

I've been told - by more than one person - that when I try to write things anonymously, I'm not really very good at it. That's probably because I was more or less raised to be a very passive aggressive person. Okay, well I wasn't raised that way per se, not in the sense that my mom would sit me down and tell me never to say how I feel or to go around spraying air freshener around my dorm instead of telling my freshman roommate that she had a scent issue (no worries, it was a mutual hatred and she will never read this), it was just something I picked up on a long time ago that I can't seem to let go of. Because really, how do you let go of taking the easy way out of a difficult situation?

I'm sorry, this post is going off on a huge tangent...or so it would seem. I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I should be thinking about how I'm going to get through this semester in one piece, instead I'm thinking about what I'm going to do with my life afterwards (and how long it'll be before I'm badgered about it to no end), and if I do end up spending my life in writing, how to go about doing it without being "passive aggressive" and offending people left and right.

I have so many things I can write about, but not a whole lot I can talk about, if that makes sense. Because talking about it would make it so real, so raw, and there are people out there who wouldn't understand. Writing is the easy way out of a difficult situation, in that it helps me sort through my head but it still doesn't really ever get out of my head. Ugh.

If only my thesis were this easy to write. If only it were jumbled around inside my head and I could just sit at a computer and type out 25 pages in like two hours. Wouldn't that be nice...

It's late. I should be sleeping.

I should be doing a lot of things.

~Erin