2003-05-05 - 2:40 p.m.
Back when I was a 21-y.o. returning student at the University of Pittsburgh, I signed up for a U.S. women's history class with a prominent feminist historian. Let's call her Kate. Kate was a hardass: Tons of reading, 30 written pages due at the end of the semester, and an attitude. She had no time for "well, like, you know, whatever." She was great. A Lesson Learned
Unfortunately, my hectic schedule at the time required me to withdraw from her class. Withdrawing made me feel like a heel, like a quitter. But I didn't want to go insane as the semester went on, which could have happened with the other 100 pages of writing due from me that term.
The day I withdrew, I went to Kate's office to tell her. She said she understood, but I could tell she was disappointed; she and I both knew that I was taking the easy way out. A mentor, Kate asked me what it was I was trying to accomplish in life. I didn't know.
For some reason, I remember telling Kate, "I'd like to write about my life, though. Like a memoir." I'd just returned from 8 months in Prague; instant depth, right? Not to Kate.
"You seem pretty young," she said. "People who write memoirs usually have had experiences." She was saying I was too young to say anything substantial.
At the time, I was miffed by Kate's comment. But now I know exactly what she was talking about. It's something I've thought about a lot lately, which is why you haven't seen anything new on this site for some time.
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Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. � Lily Tomlin |
