the warning that there’s a pervert at table five. We will dissect his thinning hair and criticize his bulging belly. The next day I spent nervously anticipating my writing class. Although I love to write maybe I would discover that I have no talent for it. What if my teacher uses my papers as an example of how NOT to write? What if my classmates pass notes about my lack of skills? What if I fail? I was back to damning Fr. John. Of course, none of my fears have come to fruition. My writing, both in Sociology and Written Word, fill a void in me that is hard to articulate. I love reading essays by talented authors. One essay is more thought provoking than the other. Writing a response to the essays is almost like having a conversation with literary geniuses. Reading an essay and truly understanding an author’s words is a beautiful gift. When we allow ourselves to be absorbed in another’s voice that is when we begin to grow. Our minds expand. Allowing ourselves to hear another’s view and accepting that their truth, though it may be different than ours, is still their truth. Truth is what we all seek. Here is my truth. I have been lonely my entire life while living with others. It has recently occurred to me that loneliness has little to do with the company of others but more to do with fulfilling one’s passion. In this world of political correctness we are so conscious of speaking and acting appropriately that perhaps we lose the part of ourselves that evokes emotion, the part that lets us dance in the rain or fall in the puddle. For some unexplainable reason putting pen to paper makes my hands sweat and my pulse race like a young girl in love. Elizabeth Taylor said, “Anyone who says they can live a life without passion is either lying through their teeth or lying from their grave.” I, finally, after forty three years, feel as though I am working towards something. It took an embarrassingly long time to get here. Suddenly, I feel as though I am on a journey instead of serving a life sentence. This is a good place to be. Beginning college at the age of forty three has been life changing for me. It is rewarding in a way that I have never known. Some of the works that I have read have been amusing, some thought provoking, all are very interesting. Anne Lammot’s essay about her writing process was so funny and familiar that I gut laughed. Jerald Walker wrote a piece about racism that brought back painful memories of racism that I endured in my own life. I wonder what kind of lasting impression it has made on me. My good grades are a reflection of not only of my hard work but of a determination that I did not know that I possess. In no way do I regret beginning college in my forty’s. When I was a younger woman I did not have the wisdom and the life experience to understand that education is a privilege. As a middle aged woman I am happy to have found the courage to fulfill my passion at Mount Saint Joseph.
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