The yellow lamp burning brightly, the brassy expanse the pages stained by too-penetrating highlighting and unsteady penciling, absorbed and fascinated by Oswyn Murray's account of "Greek Historians" (The Oxford History of Greece, 214-239) and H. D. F. Kitto's segment on "The Formation of the Greek People" (The Greeks, 12-28), I found myself for the first time in I daresay over a year truly excited and buoyed up by my reading. a dry well of shame and disillusioned love, In a glorious and self-actualizing reaffirmation of my decision to major in history, I was caught up in the topic at hand so thoroughly that my once distant dreams of a life of academia crept up on me as if they had never left, as if but waiting for me to stumble upon the right subject, the right book, to reengage my passion. Though I had explained my decision to turn away from English to many, knowing still the true reason--my shame--and my continued if disillusioned love of literature, my doubts began again despite my determination to remain steadfast. I had once again established discipline within myself, but yet until that moment still felt the lingering fear that tormented my lack of motivation and paralyzed my faculties. I had forced myself to do my duty as I had so foolishly and self-indulgently forsaken it, yet I could not inspire myself to any other cause than my parents' happiness and necessity. Until that moment, I was only waiting for my weakness to reemerge, desperately determined to stave it off. Even now I am watchful, but I feel almost reborn again, as if I have finally returned to the excited and engaged first year I was when I first walked through these halls, before my doubts and fears consumed me till I was paralyzed by anxiety. While I do not delude myself into thinking the battle is over, I have regained faith, which is something I had lost for quite some time. Last year the whole world seemed uprooted under me. I was a failure, irresponsible, no longer sure of my religion and somehow caught on the other side of a rift between myself and my family. My friends it seemed had abandoned me and instead I fell into the drama of another group, never regaining my grip, never imposing self-discipline, and constantly wracked by fear and doubt. Miraculously, after the summer I made amends and peace with my family, Tashlich and self-reflection reaffirmed my relationship with religion, and after John Bolton I have even further come to terms with the fact that I am am, indeed, quite conservative politically, though perhaps I had shied away from even acknowledging that fact in the context of liberal college-ism.
like when I was excited about the culturally-transformative power of the genroku chusingura episode in Japanese history and mythology.
For the first time in over a year, I am once again seriously considering academia.
I thought UChicago had killed that part of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment