Old School…

I have class tonight and feel a bit floopy about being prepared. Floopy is Latin for “uncertain,” “nervous, “and many other definitions that the word floopy stands in for nicely. I’ve read the material more than once; I’ve made notes, and pondered the meaning of the work. However, I still feel floopy. If I could stick my finger on my fears and squish them a bit, I would say it’s because there is a preference within my class to dissect a writer’s work. That’s good if dissection results in understanding, but I feel like it is used to find fault instead. I’m okay with reading someone’s opinion and then reflecting on how it fits with my own attitudes. I’m not okay with intentionally trashing someone’s work to make me feel superior in some small way. It seems like finding fault is what gets rewarded in class however, and so I stay quiet. I shared my floopy-ness with my husband and he told me it would be fine. He suggested I follow my own heart and let that be enough. I knew that of course, but hearing him say it was the best part of my day.