And because I loved literature so much, I should become a teacher of it. I fancied myself something an unformed pseudo-genius; I was not the brightest, but certainly my passion would carry me through to be amazing. And literature changes my life---shouldn't it change others?
I've come to face the cold, hard facts that nothing in life is easy, and certainly not free. I wanted something that I would be good at naturally so I could jump right into being amazing. Instead, I find that every time I focus on any one particular thing, I'm bombarded with my own incompetencies and inability to work through them in order to become better.
I've become tired of all the things I believed I loved when I became an English major: Poetry, fiction, literary analysis...I'm sorely tempted to throw it all out and simply read and write for fun. I think too hard about things, and it sucks the joy out of it. I thought before that I was just one of those people who likes to think, but I'm moreso nearing the conclusion that it is a compulsion I cannot control. It is almost certainly something I no longer want.
It bothered me before to be unthinking; I felt I was being stupid and willingly ignorant. Didn't I want to be the best I could in everything? Didn't I want to know the many ways to interpret texts? Or the ins and outs of poetry? Or how to read and write correctly? There is a way to do things, and I wanted to be perfect in all those ways.
Closing in on the things I'm passionate about, I see the need for balance between emotion and intellect. I've also thought so long and so hard about it all that I've grown weary of thinking at all. I want to know what is right without having to think anymore. What's the right way to approach literature? To write poetry? To read various genres of literature and still analyze what's good and what's not? The right amount of feminism so that it's still biblical? The right way to be socially active without judging and hating others different from me in their views?
It's too hard to think about all of this...yesterday I felt sick all afternoon and into the night because, without work to keep me busy and schoolwork due the next day, I was forced to sit down and think about these things I spit out daily.
I almost want to leave now and go where I know I can be what I want (a teacher), living out my ideals (C'mon kid, you can do it!) without the fear and guilt I have everyday of not being smart or good enough. Biola is choking the passion out of me...instead, I'm this angry, hurt little girl who once again does not fit in. Why do I even care? I'll graduate in another semester and never see more than half of these people again. What do I care if they carry on with ways I don't agree with? Why can't I pursue what I feel is right and good and what God calls me to?
Because it still, after all these years, eats away at me that I'm not good enough. Freud was onto something when he talked about child narcissism: It's got to be all about me, whatever "it" is, and being an average, nice girl who works hard and writes here and there is not good enough for me. It never has been. I fear that my draw to helping people, being a good teacher, and developing my writing (if you can even call it that anymore) has more to do with repairing my wounded ego than with the actual biblical-ness of being a humble, loving servant.
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