“All men dream: but not equally. Those
who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find
that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may
act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.”
T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia)
As the dog days fleet and fade with summer rays, the
hallways, purple-yellow corridors, breathe in anticipation, awaiting school’s
annual inauguration. Students wrestle with their covers, writhe in their beds,
struggling to sleep as the prospect of a new
year rampages in their head. Hearts fluttering with angst, they, we attempt
in a fit of sleep-deprivation, to dream of what a new school year will bring.
Dreams of new friends, maybe new enemies, new classes, new teachers, maybe new
*expletive deleted* teachers, new challenges, new relationships, new chances,
new beginnings, new opportunities, and new possibilities. It’s funny, even
though I’ve experienced this for well over ten years now (wow I feel old!); I
still feel a sense of excitement. No matter how cynical I’ve become, how much I
try to nonchalantly downplay it (too cool for school I know right?) I can’t
help but feel like a child seeing the world with innocuous, un-muddied, pure
hearted, wonder, cant help but see the world rife with endless discoveries, as
a place where magic does exist. I can’t help but be warmed by the flames of
excitement kindled by the first day of a new school year. Of course this
feeling of scholastic novelty tapers off after the first week, hell for some
maybe day, even though we will all soon stop dreaming new possibilities of a
new school year, start dreaming about our old summer ventures, on some level I’m
still excited. Just cant hide it (see what I did there...I’m lame I know). Like
every year I will endeavor to maintain my grades at what I deem acceptable
(never really cared for “grades” too arbitrary, subjective in most if not all
cases; not an excuse but a reality) as well as perform the sometimes impossible
balancing act of what I call “school” and “living” (so, basically what everyone
calls it). Feel like I’ve got it nailed down after a decade. Well I thought at
least. I feel as if I am Orleanna writing to heal my own guilt, or Elizabeth,
Darcy maybe, maybe even the entire flawed cast whose pride blinded them. To cut
to the point, although I took the disciplined task of reading each assigned
novel, my time management failed to prepare me for active notes on the essays
of Michel de Montaigne. This part of the post again seems more or less a
reflection of my own guilt (a healing mechanism like Orleanna’s bible? No…just
procrastination), I bit off more then I could chew believing I had enough time
to dutifully analyze/respond authentically with the exhaustive structure of my
previous notes. But life goes on and ill learn/accept the consequences of my
choices, embrace them actually. Live and learn, live and learn. Anyways, enough
of my ramblings. As it is my passion, as well as pursued profession, I chose
this course over college prep not out of pressure or some sort of institutional, student, honor but to truly
glean/expand/ improve my skills as a writer (I’m lame, I know, don’t rub it in
:). I have always had a passion for creative writing and writing in any form in
general and I am of the belief that the more you write, indeed, the better you
can. I can only expect this class to further and positively polish not only my
fundamental writing skills but also my objective (no such thing, aside from
math) pieces as well (i.e. essays, etc. and so forth, yadda). As I finish this
post I can only imagine what my own dreams will be for this coming year whilst
struggling to sleep. But as T.E. Lawrence once described, I will strive to be
more than a dreamer of the night.
-Hayden Robel, an
ultra-cynic, utopian idealist, and an aspiring dreamer of the day
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