Better Than I Expected

I'm blogging about an exam score tonight.

There's something dark and mundane about this task, a feeling that I would associate with a certain sense of misplaced importance. Me? Write about a mere exam? Bah! There are worlds to contemplate!

But this is a reflection and that's the thing about an honest mirror; you don't get to choose the image that looks back at you.

So, exam scores. Interestingly (or not), I actually did pretty well. I should mention that my particular expectations for the test were low, since I haven't been the most attentive or dedicated student thus far. I'm not even sure if I own the textbook, to be honest, and I will admit, there's something particularly odd about admitting all of my flaws as a student to a public space that's dedicated entirely towards a student pursuit. It's like telling your priest why you can't be bothered to go to church, or something.

The problem with doing well on a test that I didn't study for is that now I have validation that I didn't have to work particularly hard to do decently. And I hate it when that happens, because then it makes me wonder. Did I get lucky? Is my ability to muddle through essay questions a result of me actually having some idea about what's going on, or just a product of being able to write well?

It's not something that I can feel proud of, you know? But it's not something that I can complain about, either, because certainly, I don't want to fail. So, I got what I wanted, but at the same time, I don't really feel like I got what I deserved, and it all devolves into this twisted circle of what I want versus what I know I should have.

That's one of the things that I've always enjoyed about my major and English classes in general, and no, that's not something I'm saying for the sake of saying it on my English blog. I like this discipline for many different reasons, but one thing in particular is that I've always felt more... honest about my work. That is not to say that I cheat in other respects! No, no! But you can't fake your writing. You can try, certainly, and you can lie to yourself in all manner of ways, but unless you make the decision to try to steal every single word that you ever create (which actually sounds harder, in my opinion) you have to put your actual work out there. And when you do that, you don't have to wonder if you managed to sneak your way through, whether or not you just "got lucky." You either did it, or you didn't, and either way, there's none of this bleak introspection.

I like that.

Seriously, though, could you imagine how hard it would be to try to fake your way through your entire career as a writer? I mean, to try to steal every single thing you've ever said? You'd spend so much more time being a thief just to find the right thing!

It keeps us honest, although I don't presume to speak for the journalism majors, but for the rest of us, the temptation to steal just... doesn't work. Or at least, it doesn't work for me. Because you can tell, you know? You can see the bits that weren't woven into the rest of the work, the lines that sound just a little bit off, the tiniest bit of disharmony in your music.

Rarely in life do we get such refreshing honesty, and more and more, I find myself taking time, like right now, to remind myself to savor it.