About 20 different Google Docs, learning keyboard shortcuts, and deciding whether or not that comma was really necessary is probably what you’d expect of a typical English class. That was only the half of it. This semester of AP Language and Composition was above average and whizzed by like a whirlwind. Each day I felt like I was blindly crossing the street, without looking both ways. Activity after activity, it felt like I was being stretched to my limit and my writing capabilities waned. Tweet after tweet, I felt my passion for English (the one subject I was semi-confident in) wither away. But as I sit here and brainstorm ideas for this reflection and as I am slowly typing out these words, I realized that maybe everything had a purpose. That,
maybe, my writing skills were not deteriorating but actually improving. I know what you’re thinking, how could declining skills be an improvement? Really, there’s no logical answer for what I discovered, I just knew. As my flame grew closer to the wick, and as my writing grew lazier and lazier I finally understood that the only thing killing my interest was myself. It wasn’t the activities, the class, or even the teacher, it was my unmotivated self that was slowly killing off the English nerd inside of me. If I am going to be honest, I, at first, saw the class as an easy A. Why wouldn’t I if all we were doing was watching videos and doing random activities? I would be lying if I was saying that I didn’t love the fact that we had no homework and barely had tests and quizzes, but there always seemed to be a small part of me that was trembling with fear over the AP exam that we seemed so little prepared for. To my surprise, I realized that this roller coaster of a class was actually useful. That hidden behind the curtain of extravagant lesson plans were tiny messages that would implement themselves in me and improve not only my writing but dare I say my life.
English is more than grammar, reading, and comprehension. English is a place to hone in your sense of wonder and curiosity as a student, to write with compassion or any other emotion you need to convey, a place where you begin to notice the little things, and a place where your voice can be heard. And maybe, just
maybe, it was this class that helped me unearth these ideas. Finally comprehending that English is a blend of my traditional notions and these new revelations has really helped me put things into perspective.
Ever stop to smell the roses? Look back and remember all the finite details of your summer vacation? Ever stop to notice the world and then use these skills in your writing? Well, I honestly can’t I say I have (at least not before this class). With the pressure and stress of school and wanting to be accepted into a notable college mounting up inside, my life has passed me by with such speed that I haven’t been able to just stop and take in what is really happening around me. Each day I would just exist, like I was there but never really experienced life. The breath of fresh air that was this class and its lack of homework and stress free lectures finally let me ease up. It let me finally relax the tension in my shoulders that have been bugging me since freshman year.
Noticing the details in your everyday life doesn’t come easily. Sometimes the world is at just too quick of a pace for you to catch up, but after writing down in quick diaries the small happenings of each morning, these things became like a new found habit. Noticing things each and every day may seem like the most tedious task on Earth, not going to lie I thought that too, but like every other thing Mr. Ziebarth threw at our way, it was serving a much larger purpose. These unwritten skills slowly started to translate itself into my writing. I had never been one for descriptions and would always mix up even the biggest details. This was probably why I had worried over the descriptive essay we were assigned. But after picking up my new talent, this task came to me like an old song. For once in a very long time, I actually enjoyed what I was writing! It honestly surprised me that something I had dreaded for a long time coming was finished in what seemed like a matter of seconds. The assignment deviated from the structure of the ever hated formal essays I had always been assigned and just let me do my own thing. I let my personality as a writer flow into my words and combined my skill of noticing things carry me into writing one of my proudest works of this class. But, I had come to learn that not all good things come to last.
Learning in this class was like climbing Mt. Everest, each day leading up to the climax of the entire course, the peak. And though the peak is so seemingly far away, each day was different as I would either find myself filled with laughter or filled with sadness. It is a well known fact to never let your achievements get to your head and to never expect something that can’t be expected. I guess I didn’t know this, as my works following my descriptive essay were quite the disaster (meaning each work following dipped in terms of quality). This is not to say each piece was incredibly distasteful or god awful,
but some of them
almost got to that point. It wasn’t because I thought that I had been reincarnated as Shakespeare that my work declined, my ego was not the culprit. It was my “too much gene” that become the ice burg to my Titanic.
The main praise of my descriptive essay was its humor, wholesomeness, and depiction of sibling love/hate. I took this praise and did the worst possible thing with it: I added as much humor as I could into my works following. I didn’t do this because I’m a comedic genius or because humor is the only this I can write about, it was actually my fear of disappointment and worrying that my works succeeding the descriptive essay would never live up to the praise. And boy, it did not. Ever heard the phrase “there’s no such thing as too much”? Well apparently I had never heard of such words, since ever piece of work was dripping with a sense of humor that was border line pretentious and annoying. Learning that there was a limit to humor and a limit on what was appropriate has been the most valuable yet humiliating lesson to date.
I never expected much but my Legischools argumentative essay was a complete and utter catastrophe. Trying to win the judges over with my sense of humor and forgetting the formality of the contest, I opened the essay with the words “Ever heard of the movie Wall-E?” Yes, I actually made that the introduction of my essay. Judging by these award-winning words, you could probably guess how much of a train wreck the rest is and that I did not win. I never expected to win but there was still a sense of disappointment. I thought over and over why they didn’t choose my essay and I realized something that became another life lesson that this class seemed to unknowingly teach me. That day had been a particularly rough one, and the news of losing (which no ones like) made me question my writing skills for what seemed like the second time. I came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. Yes, I simply brushed it off. Odd, for the girl who always likes to win and was hoping to win her readers over with her humor and personality. I learned that ,unfortunately, those things can only get you so far (in life and in your writing). I deduced that my descriptive essay could not be compared to my Legischools essay, that there are times for humor and times set aside for being serious. The idea of not comparing myself to others was further cemented that day. I had always been taught to never compare myself to my peers and my first grade teacher Ms. Robinson would always preach that “what’s easy to one student can be incredibly hard for the other” and until this moment in class I had forgotten that. I realized that though my argumentative essay was subpar, I still had to be persistent and motivated to improve my writing for future contests and assignments. And though the goal is to win and get a good grade, winning or losing and getting A’s or B’s is incredibly minute in the grand scheme of things. I learned that I shouldn’t attach grades or percentages to everything I do and critique every mistake I make. Instead, I should take charge and face life, which presents itself in a multitude of ways, with stride.
Becoming, in a sense, my own editor-in-chief would open up the floodgates. Floodgates in a good way, a rush of new ideas and notions. Learning to be in the moment, to accept the losses and revel (but not too much) in my successes, and most importantly deciding to take charge and learn to edit my sometimes stagnant views on things has helped me mature into a greater student, writer, and person as a whole. Though this metaphor is used way too often and is way too cheesy, I really do feel as those I was a caterpillar in her little cocoon of hindrance and self-loathing that finally learned to emerge into a graceful Painted Monarch that spread its wings and became a new person. Next semester, I hope to continue on this path of new revelations and extend my creativity into more than just writing. I want to see the extent of my undying passions and inspirations and where they’ll lead to. And though learning new lessons is important for self-growth, I mostly wish to keep those that I have learned this semester and take them to the grave.
Sally 