When the student is ready, the teacher appears

When I was writing my Holy/Dangerous Women paper, and I woke up the day it was due about 6 hours later than I meant to, I started feeling this horrible panic. I decided to take a shower to move through it, and in the shower this phrase came to me, one that my dad has said a million times but I never quite understood:


"When the student is ready, the teacher appears."


I realized this paper, this panic, this fear of failure, were all here to be my teachers. I don't mean this in a rainbows and puppies kind of way... though I'm sure rainbows and puppies can be teachers too, but not the kind I needed right then. I'd always thought of the phrase as more literal. Like some wise and knowing person was going to show up and gently enlighten me as soon as I attained some kind of readiness. And certainly the fact that this had not occurred was a sign that I was, as I secretly feared, inept and/or underdeveloped.


But now... this paper that I was fumbling through, that I was so scared to write because I was sure it would prove finally what a terrible student I am... was here to teach me? I was very clear on this for awhile, even thinking that what I was experiencing was far more valuable than getting an A and praise. Because what I was suddenly learning was why I procrastinate, the way in which fear drives me to a very specific system of behavior. It's not that I can't do the work in three weeks that I manage to cram into one frightening day. It's not that I'm somehow stupid or crazy or belligerent. It's specific fear management: I'm afraid of doing it wrong, so I put it off until I have to either do it or fail in a way that seems unthinkable. At which point I do it, but not with the time and care I know I could potentially put in. This way I can avoid both failure (finding out I couldn't do something even though I really tried my best) and success (finding out I really could). Plus, I get a nice adrenaline rush and the feeling of being a tough cookie.

It's not stupid. It's not random. It may not be based in reality, but it is, in its own way, a clever method of handling a very emotionally raw fear: that I'm not actually any good. At (whatever I may be doing) or (fundamentally at all).

So I had this realization and I kind of forgot, and then today I had to go meet with my professor about this paper, without having any idea of my grade or how I had done.

I was scared. I tried to talk myself out of it and steel myself for the worst, but I was scared. I had to wait while she talked to another student... of course, the student in the class who always seemed to have her shit together and knew what she wanted to write about in the paper from day 1... so I waited, hearing words float downstairs into the conference room where I'd decided to plant myself, and then went in to hear what was up.

She basically opened by saying I'd done a very good job with textual analysis and the application of theory, but essentially I hadn't written a research paper. Ok. What? Not ok. She was telling me I hadn't done the assignment correctly. Oh my God... I hadn't heard something like this since high school. I was sitting there in my seat with the paper written all over in my lap, and I couldn't look at it too closely, and I didn't dare check for my grade, all the way at the very back.

She went on in this back and forth mode, both saying that what I had done was fundamentally wrong, and that if it wasn't, if I worked on it, I could have this very good publishable thing.

I tried to say things that were intelligent and open without either defending myself too much or sounding like I had known what I had to do and just cavalierly decided not to do it... I have no idea how it sounded for real. I asked what specifically I should have done/should do in the future. I said that I had switched gears very close to the end, and knew on some level that I was shafting the research. I said that I was used to writing papers that required less background (I didn't say this, but I was thinking that I kind of jumped off from the model of my thesis, where I was all but ordered to use less background).

She seemed to genuinely wish she could have helped me earlier. She said that my paper was the first one she read, and she was really worried that maybe no one had understood the assignment (God!) But I was afraid of her, and I was afraid to be clear about where I was with my work because I knew it was not far enough.

She said that I could have asked for an incomplete, but that she understood if I just wanted it done. She asked if I had submitted a bibliography when she asked for it, and that's when the bottom really fell out for me. What bibliography? I remembered very clearly the email where she canceled class so we could have more time to research. I remembered meeting with her to talk about my nascent project ideas. I remembered NOTHING about a bibliography, which apparently everyone else had turned in! It became clear as we talked that people had either turned them in or just discussed them verbally, which is probably what I figured our meeting was... I don't know. But I felt ridiculous.

I think I started to crumble at this point, and I think she knew, because she wrapped up quickly and dismissed me. I don't know how I looked... I didn't burst into tears in her office or anything, but I definitely beat a hasty retreat. It felt so horrible that I had to endure all that and then say "thank you, ok, thank you, bye."

And did I ever mention that I HATE when people can see what I feel and I don't intend it? I always have this snarling animal reaction inside... if you've upset me, at least have the decency to let me lie about it. Which she did... but I think that she knew.

I made it outside and finally looked for my grade: Just a B. And a B+ for the class. I mean, at this point, I thought it was definitely going to be worse... what kind of grades do you get if you don't do the assignment? But the grade didn't really matter. I already felt that crunch inside that told me I had failed. And to be perfectly honest I pretend that I think Bs are totally fine because I get them and I know they ought to be and sometimes they are... especially if I get a C, too. But to be perfectly honest I don't want Bs. I want As.

Because I want to be perfect, and not perfectly honest. I don't want to be honest.

So there I was, walking home and trying not to cry, and I felt all the tightening start inside of me... all the reactions to the reaction, all the "this is so stupid, why are you being such an idiot, it's only a B, what is your problem, so you messed up, why are you doing this to yourself?" and "why didn't you just do something earlier, if you weren't so dumb and afraid you could have fixed this, or if you just took more time" and "you know it's really ok so don't get upset, let's think about this rationally," and my dad saying I really need all As and this voice in my head yelling at him about whether he is at Harvard getting his master's so how the fuck does he know what I need to get... noisy, noisy place, my head.

And I thought, I'm just going to stay with how I feel. It doesn't matter why I feel that way, it doesn't matter where this is coming from, I just want to stay with how I feel. Not fight. Not wallow. Be with.

I don't know how to describe being with how I feel. It's different. I had to keep reminding myself to do it, gently, like if a kid is riding a trike and keeps swerving off the path. It doesn't stop hurting. I got inside and sat here crying. But it's like sitting with someone, like sitting next to your friend while you are doing something hard together.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

I don't know what this all means, but I think it means something different, something a little bit new. And if that's true, it's worth it. The As don't feed my soul anyway. They just lessen the anxiety for a few minutes.

I'm going to read my comments now. Stick around, I'll be right back.

That was ok. I think she's right about most of the things that would strengthen my arguments... I think she's wrong about several critiques of my style. It's nice to be able to tell the difference between what I agree with and what I don't without categorically responding to the whole thing as a personal attack.

It's funny, when I woke up this morning, and started thinking about all the horrible things I had to do today (do you do that in bed, too?), I for some reason found myself saying a prayer, of gratitude, in advance, for the day and what would come of it. I never do that.

I don't know how to end this... I don't know why I wrote it... I wanted to share what I was thinking. I wanted to allow it to settle a bit in me.

A Little Spot of Fun Before I Turn in My Paper...

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

" '...They had him on horses so he could look like the Marlboro Man.' Cole states that female consumers nonetheless soon began to worry that he 'looked gay' because 'they did not see what they considered masculine by conventional standards.' Cole's comments imply that the male model's apparently lack of 'conventional masculinity' was a direct result of his nakedness."

Oooh, and I'm not going to do a big citation! I'll just tell you that it's from a book called Strip Show by Katherine Liepe-Levinson.

Guess what my paper was about?

:)

Scary Dream

So, I had this bizarre and frightening dream just before I woke up, and since there's no one here/awake at the moment to share it with, I figured I would let it float out into cyberspace.

First of all, I was in a large group hanging out with Maddie, and she asked if I/we had time to all go to this show together, and I was like, yeah, I think we can make that work. And then she said, "Great, 'cause we all should audition for them as much as possible, and then they'll get to know us," and I got a little freaked out because I wasn't sure I could audition for something that wasn't near my school and actually do it.

Anyway, possibly to wait for our audition, a few of us were sent to separate rooms... in my case I think it was actually a separate apartment, and I was sitting there at a large table with this man who looked like a guy I know from school, but was actually a dream-person, in that I had this concrete sense of how he normally behaved, and we also shared memories and knowledge that has no bearing on the real world. So, for some reason as a joke (I think he was taking on another persona or something?) this man was being very flirtatious and teasing and grabby, doing some kind of affected accent and snuggling up to me and kissing my neck and ear, etc. And I knew that he was not serious and that this was part of the way he operated, but it was still weird. And then he said he wanted something from the kitchen (part of the game was that we were in some kind of huge mansion), and he walked around the table and found Charlotte and was like, here is the kitchen help! I could tell that Charlotte was confused and displeased with this man's behavior, and I wanted to explain why he was acting this way, which apparently I knew... but I decided the thing to do was to stick up for her, so I said she wasn't the kitchen help and put my arm around her. And then the man was puzzled because this was not how I was supposed to play the game...

But this quickly became a non-issue as I caught sight or sense of Hugh. Hugh is an enormous dark gray enchanted wolf-dog that sucks out your soul in a way that is visually similar to the Dementor attacks as shown in the Harry Potter movies. There was a terrible witch, old enemy to both the man and myself, who enchanted/created Hugh, and the fact that he was around meant that the witch was back in power and making evil plans. And Hugh was incredibly hard to fight because the only way to defeat him was to cut off his ears and his tail (and possibly his nose, though I'm not sure that was necessary) You could do anything else in the world to him and he would instantly recover. Even if you did cut off his ears and tail the witch could revive him magically, but this at least took some time and you could escape.

In this case, though, for some odd reason, Hugh was very tiny. This didn't make him much less dangerous, because you could still easily get your soul sucked out, but it did make him easier to catch. And at some point I did catch him. I have no explanation for my behavior after this, except that Hugh filled me with the most incredible cold terror, and I do think in my defense that interacting with his face in any way, maybe especially when he was small because you would have to get closer to him, gave him the opportunity to suck out your soul. In any case, I did not attempt to cut off his ears and tail, but tried to squish him with my hands and then dropped him out the window.

He landed by a park bench, sort of flattened for a moment, and then came back to life as his old gigantic self. I think I was actually pale with fear at this point. I told the man that Hugh had really and truly come back-- I think the man had cut off Hugh's tail and ears before and I was hopeful he would do so again. He made some promise of help, but I had the feeling he was just leaving. Charlotte either went with him or just disappeared, starting a little pattern of people appearing and disappearing in the dream. However, this was not unusual or upsetting in the sense it would be if people actually appeared and disappeared, though I sometimes wondered where they had gone.

I went and found Rachel in another room... maybe the kitchen again... and told her all about Hugh. I told her the whole history of me and my associates and Hugh and the witch, (which I wish I could remember now), and told her how Hugh was after us. I was trying very hard to impress upon her the extreme gravity of the situation, and she said she understood, but she was cooking an enormous skillet full of a large assortment of foods, including matzo balls and some kind of broth, and carrots, too, I think. And she kept having to do stuff so the food didn't get ruined, and she was also very upset, but in a sort of dry and bitter way, and from these sort of unrelated behaviors I was concerned that she wasn't taking this matter seriously enough and might not help me.

And then suddenly my mom was there, and she seemed to want to listen about Hugh, but she couldn't seem to understand. She kept asking questions like, "so we can't do this or that to him?" and it was frustrating, because I'd said over and over that the only way was to cut off his ears and tail. And I was trying to explain that Hugh was specifically after me, so it wouldn't do ay good to go somewhere else or whatever. I think at this point there was a larger group of people around, including little children, and I was extremely upset because I didn't know how to deal with or defend them. We saw Hugh out the window and knew he was getting closer...

And I woke up.