A Piece of Myself

The most daring paper I have yet written was nearly three years ago.

Professor S-- changed my life. Literally. In one semester his empathetic, vigorous way of teaching reopened a part of myself that I thought closed. Discussions of Frankle’s, Man’s Search for Meaning brought new insight to my own life’s challenges, which in the scheme of things (and in comparison) were nothing. When time came to write an overview of what we learned from the book and class, words came to me in such a way that I could not write it down fast enough; I could not type fast enough.

The last day of class Professor S-- requested to speak to me in private.

“Your paper,” he told me frankly, “was beautiful. You nailed it….”

I was suppose to smile about this, but I couldn’t. Instead my eyes were burning, and I could feel the pit of my stomach. Somehow I managed a meek, “Thank you very much.”

“I understand,” he said, “the wounds are fresh.”

We talked for nearly an hour about the context of my paper. In the end, he requested to use it (anonymously) for future classes, which I readily agreed to.

It is an quiet part of myself I have given.

Today I wonder what people think as Professor S-- reads my paper aloud. I wonder which of them, too, has felt the droning motion of the merry-go-round, the dictation of the chalk mask. I wonder if in some small way my words will let them know they aren’t alone. I wonder if they will ever know that it is okay to heal. Most of all, I wonder if they know that it is okay to be vulnerable-- that it’s okay to give life a chance.