a brief regret drummed out from behind the pages of a textbook

It saddens me enormously when I feel, as I have all this semester, that I don’t have time to process my learning in a truly deep and thoughtful way; namely, by writing through and about the ideas that I encounter. I don’t mean essay writing so much as personal freewrites, a diary of the mind. Without writing like this — formulating thoughts in my own words, positioning myself in relation to them, arguing or conversing with them — I tend only to engage in the most shallow of ways, skimming the fingertips of my mind along the surface of a text as I conduct a time-pressured dash whose only goal is to finish and gather a sentence or two for classroom discussion. This, one of the great sorrows of being a student in academia! — to feel the mind alight with curiosity at the multitude of paths and questions contained within a book — and, never losing this awareness, to pass them by without pursuit.

There are not enough hours in the day, not enough days in the week, not enough weeks in the month, not enough months in the year, and not enough years in my life to satisfy the hunger of my curiosity. And I hate when I allow this truth, and its accompanying panicky awareness of running out of time, to keep me from even trying.

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~ by Not Alice on March 19, 2008.

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