I haven’t mentioned how my writing class went last week. I haven’t written here at all because I’ve been busy writing for the class.
I go into the classroom on Wednesday evening and sit around a circle with about 20 other people. I look at each of them, knowing I will know them all a lot better by the time this class is over.
The teacher makes odd jokes; he tells us we must write ‘real’-- from our hearts. He tells us we must write for 30 minutes, five days a week. He tells us we will be ‘sharing’ our writing with the class. He tells us that this class will change both our writing and our being, or he will personally refund our tuition money.
The teacher says, “If you can’t commit to these things, now is the time to get up and leave.” One person left. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to get up and walk out the classroom door. This class scares me – this writing ‘real’ and sharing it with strangers. But I didn’t get up. I stayed. I know this class is what I need.
The syllabus shares a line from a poem by Mary Oliver:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
That is why I am staying. For the possibilities. For the chance to see myself and the world in a new way. For the chance to live my one wild and precious life.