Rounding out my first semester at American has felt like a massive undertaking in ways that I was not prepared for. I’m sure you all can relate to the initial pressure of reentering college for your master’s degree. We have faith that the time and resources we pool into a second round of college will yield great results, but we can feel anxiety when those results don’t immediately seem apparent in the quality of our work. And to top it all off, what I once thought of as a meager 9 credits course load had certainly proved to be as intensive as any of the busiest 20 credit semesters as an undergraduate. Yet, I handled it as we all have. I’m satisfied with my grades, I kept my apartment intact, and I managed to hold down a job through it all. The stress of the course load, however, isn’t what I considered the most substantial part of this past semester for me. It was meeting people.
As an undergraduate, I had convinced myself that writerly isolation was a good thing for me a la Emily Dickinson. I was engaged in feedback from workshops, but I never made any attempts to reach out to other students. What I had thought was a choice to be with other people, in retrospect, began to feel like I was incapable of doing so in the first place. I’m sad to say that I became bitter. Anyone that’s listened to The Doors’ “People Are Strange” would have a good idea of where my headspace was at the time. I’d always wanted to create fantastical worlds in my stories that could critique the world around me, but the world seemed too strange for me to imagine anything with a happy(ish) ending, and I internalized some of the ugliness I was putting into my writing. All of this was because I had positioned myself as an outsider. And for as many grand reflections I could do about myself, there’s a simple reality that plagued me and still does for many people: I was nervous. That’s all it really was, something that mundane, that was affecting me.
Yet, you all welcomed me. I got better because of all of you. I can already feel your collective eye rolling through the force as I’m typing this, but I really mean it. Beyond the touchy feely sentiment, the welcoming atmosphere has genuinely changed how I think of writing and my own place in it. In the different classes I’ve taken this semester, I can honestly say that I’ve gotten the most critical feedback I’ve ever received, but it never felt debilitating. I’ve read stories from my peers that far surpass my own, but I’m not intimidated. I’ve entered this program younger and less experienced than many of my classmates, but I feel welcomed. It’s because of this welcoming atmosphere that I feel revitalized as a writer. “Taking in new perspectives” is a cliché that gets thrown around a lot, but becoming familiar with you all and your different experiences allowed me to reassess who I was and what my own writing could be. The only thing keeping me from listing off all the people I’ve been fortunate to work alongside in my workshop, my teaching class, and my film class is a fear of secondhand embarrassment, but just know that I think the world of each of you and the talent you constantly put on display.
I lack the capacity as a writer to fully express how grateful I am, but I hope that my talent will improve so that I someday can. In the meantime, just know that for all the stressors I feel as an increasingly independent adult, the only thing I feel when speaking to each of you is gratitude. In short, just keep doing what you’re all doing. It’s working. As this semester has finished, I can’t wait for the next one.
Here’s to you all,
Bryce
Written by: Bryce Thompson
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